Just Like Heaven
by Azarr
Summary: When Near was little, he was sure that his mother was Heaven, and that no one else could ever compare. As he grew older, he started to realise that there might be one other person who could make him feel safe and warm and loved too... NearMelloNear
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**:Once upon a time, there was a brilliant work of the manga kind, called '_Death Note_'. If you were to pick up one of these volumes and read the cover, you would not, in fact, find bright, bold text declaring it to be the work of one 'Azar-Apocalyspe'. Therefore, it stands to reason that 'Azar-Apocalype' (ie. _Me_) does not own Death Note.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: Death, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, rape/prostitution, slight language, eating disorders, maybe slightly OOC

**Spoilers**: Near's real name. Exclamation point.

**AN**: I haven't been around for a while... I apologise. I have a whole list of excuses - I went overseas, I was very, _very_ unwell, my friend and my grandfather died, I've have school word - but they're just that: Excuses.

During my absence from the community, my writing style has changed quite a bit. It's nothing too dramatic, but... -trails off-  
As a result, The One I Desire has been deleted. It honestly makes me want to vomit when I read it. God, it is _horrible_. I don't know why I uploaded it in the first place; it was more a boredom buster than a serious work, but I'd like to thank everyone who read it and reviewed it.

So... without further ado... Here is my first Death Note FanFic ever (:

--

_Heaven - known also as Nirvana, Devachan, Paradise, Astral Plane, and the Other Side; it is the eternal home where life is unrestricted by space or time._

Just Like Heaven

By Azar-Apocalypse

--

Chapter One

--

When Near was three, he'd asked his mother if Heaven was real.

"Bien sûr, il est, Nate," she'd replied, smoothing his pale hair back and kissing his forehead.

Near, who was curious and wanted to know everything about everything (and really just wanted his mother to stay there, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding him), had asked where Heaven was.

His mother had smiled and tucked his blankets around him tighter. "Ciel est l'endroit où vous sentir en sécurité et chaleureux et aimé. Le ciel est ici." She pointed at her chest, then at his, and kissed his forehead again.

Near had watched her leave a few moments later, noticing the way that she left the door open slightly so that he wouldn't get scared, and in that moment, he'd been sure that Heaven was his mother.

Two years later, as the firemen had carried him out of his house, Near had clung to them, but had never felt safe, warm, or loved. The fireman's arms were cold, hard, and uncaring - nothing like Near's mother's.

When they'd put him down, Near had hugged his knees and his Optimus Prime close to his chest and closed his eyes, imagining for a moment that his mother was still there, that the smoke in the air smelled like her perfume, that his body heat was hers too, and that the hard ground was his soft mattress. It hadn't worked.

Near mourned the loss of his Heaven that night as he watched it burn to ashes.

A week later, distant relatives from somewhere called Kent had come to pick him up. They'd said that it was a pity about his mother, such a pity, and asked if he wanted a candy, because he was such a quiet child, and wasn't he a strange one?

Near had sat in the backseat of the car, listening to these strangers talk about his Heaven as if they knew her, and kept on about how it was such a pity, a real pity, and how Near had nowhere to go because he most certainly _couldn't_ stay with his mongrel of a father.

The strangers had taken him on a train under the water (it had been cold and dark in there, but they didn't turn the lights on, and Near had thought to himself that his mother would never have let him alone while he was scared like he was then), and then to a big house, where everyone talked in funny voices and laughed loudly like Heaven hadn't just been incinerated.

"C'est là que vous allez vivre à partir de maintenant, Nate," the strangers had said, and left Near in front of the big building.

Near hadn't known what to do. Was he supposed to knock on the door? What if they didn't want him, either? What if they kicked him out? He had nowhere to go now - his Heaven was gone and he was lost and alone and cold and scared.

He'd stayed outside that night, hugging his Optimus Prime figurine, and shivering and sniffling to himself, until an old lady opened the door and started shouting at him.

Near hadn't understood much of what she'd said. She wasn't happy with him, he could tell that much, but she brought him a blanket and hurried him inside anyway, where he got more blankets and some hot chocolate.

The nice lady had then started talking to him in her funny voice, asking him a lot of questions that he didn't know the answers to. Eventually, she'd realised that he didn't speak much English, and had asked him in twelve different languages what his name was.

Finally, Near had replied, "Je m'appelle Nate."

The lady smiled and said, "Enchantée. Je m'appelle Lucy."

Near hadn't liked her funny voice very much, so he tried to talk like her to make her stop trying to speak like him. "You... Do you know... where is ma 'ouse?"

Lucy had looked at him intently for a few moments, before bursting into tears. Near didn't know what to do about that; his mother had never cried in front of him (sometimes, he'd hear her crying at night, but he wasn't supposed to know about that). He did what he liked his mother to do for him when he cried - he hugged Lucy, and offered her some of his hot chocolate. She'd shaken her head and led him to a room after that, and Near had followed her. There were big piles of clothes on the floor, and Lucy picked some up and gave them to him. Then, she showed him a huge bathroom and told him to get washed up.

When Near had taken his clothes off, he'd noticed a note in his pocket, and put it aside to give to Lucy later. It took him half an hour to get clean enough for his liking (Near's mother had never liked it when he was dirty, so Near didn't like being dirty, either), and when he finished, he left the bathroom and found Lucy outside waiting for him. After he gave her the note, she started crying again. Near stood there awkwardly and waited for her to finish - he'd never liked hearing people cry - and she led him to another room.

"Il s'agit de votre chamber," she'd said in her funny voice, and left.

Near opened the door and found a bedroom not unlike his one at home, except there were other children already there, and there was no book of bedtime stories and only his Optimus Prime toy to cuddle. He'd found a free bed eventually, and laid down.

He didn't sleep that night. He didn't know what he was doing in this place with all these weird people who spoke in funny voices, but he wanted to go back home.

A year went by, and Near had realised that he had no home now. He'd asked a few people and they'd told him that no one had ever bothered to repair it, because it had nearly burned down completely.

He missed his mother. Sometimes, he'd go to church, just they like used to do together, and pray for her. It seemed pointless to Near, but his mother had always loved church, and so Near would try to as well. No matter how much he'd tried though, he couldn't quiet the niggling voice in the back of his mind that asked him why God would set Heaven ablaze and watch her burn.

One day, he'd asked a priest. His English was improving each day, even though he was introverted and didn't talk very much, so he could now communicate with people quite well.

"Why did God burn 'eaven down?"

The priest had been surprised by that, and had asked Near to sit down with him. "You are cynical, for one so young."

Near hugged one knee to his chest, wishing it was his mother, and curled his hair around his finger, just like his mother used to. His Optimus Prime toy lay in his lap - he always took it everywhere with him, treating it as if it were Heaven herself.

The priest sighed and sat down beside him. "I'm not really sure what you mean, to be honest," he said in his thick English accent - Near had learned a while ago that that was why everyone spoke funny around here.

Near had looked at the priest and remembered his mother's screams as the fire licked at her skin. "God burned my 'ouse down, and le ciel - 'eaven - too. Why did 'e do eet?" he asked. His speech therapist wasn't happy with him - he stubbornly refused to completely let go of his French accent, because it was the only thing left that his mother had given him, other than his toy.

The priest sighed again and asked, "What do you mean, God burned down 'ea- I mean, Heaven?"

"'e killed my muzza. She died in an 'ousefire," Near replied quietly. He missed his mother; her laugh, her smile, the scent of her perfume, the way her hair tickled his face when she hugged him, her ever-present warmth, the feeling of safety that seemed to surround her.

"Oh, my dear boy, I am so sorry for your loss," the priest had mumbled quickly, as if Near hadn't already heard it from every other person he'd ever met in England. "You must understand, God didn't want your mother to suffer. He decided that it was time for her to join him, in Heaven."

"She _eez_ 'eaven," Near insisted as he shifted away from the priest's pitying eyes.

The priest had given him a small smile then. "Heaven isn't one person, child. Heaven is a Divine place from where God watches over us all, and, if we live our lives without sin, we can join him when we die."

"'e killed 'er. I don't _want_ to meet 'im. I just want my muzza back. 'ow do I get 'er back?"

"I... I'm sorry, dear child... But there's no way, until God wants you to join her," the priest replied sadly, before he got up and walked away.

_Maybe_, Near had thought as he sat on a bench in the church, listening with half an ear to the priest's sermon, _maybe, that's why no one wants me. If God doesn't want me, why would anyone else?_

Another two months went by, and Near was no closer to getting his Heaven back. He'd still been praying every day and every night, but he'd never heard from his mother, even though he slept with her photograph under his pillow (he'd managed to find a picture of her on the internet, and had printed it off), and Optimus Prime in his arms.

Sometimes, he'd go out to the city and find jobs, make some money for himself - he needed all the money he could get, because the orphanage only supplied him with three meals a day, a (relatively) clean bed, a bathroom, and one pair of clothes.

This time, he couldn't find anything to do and was sitting on a street corner, counting the few coins that he had, when a man approached him.

"You lookin' for some money, boy?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly

Near had looked up and nodded eagerly. "Ou- Yes."

The man gave him a crooked smile and led him to an alley way (it was dark, and made Near nervous). The man started to unzip his pants, and Near wasn't any closer to understanding what the man needed.

"It's just like lickin' a lollipop." The man motioned toward his crotch and Near stared, wide-eyed.

It was _sticking up_. Surely that couldn't be healthy.

"I don't understand what you want me to do," Near had said. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the man's groin. Did it hurt? Was it uncomfortable? What did the man want Near to do about it?

The man stepped closer and pushed Near to his knees, saying, "It's like a said, boy. Just like lickin' a lollipop." The man pulled Near's head closer to his crotch, and Near tried to pull away, because the man's hand on the back of his head was hurting, but it didn't work. "Get to work, boy," the man growled.

When Near didn't do anything (mainly because he still didn't understand what he was supposed to be doing), the man pinched his nose and Near was forced to open his mouth to take a breath. Almost as soon as he did, he found something long and hard and thick and bad tasting pressed against the back of his throat, and Near gagged.

The following few minutes passed by in a blur, filled with vulgar grunts and groans. Finally, when it was over, the man pulled his pants up and ruffled Near's hair. Near flinched away.

"You look so purty when you cry, boy," the man had said as he walked away, leaving Near with a fifty pound note and a bitter taste in his mouth.

As soon as the man had gone, Near had stood up and vomited behind a dumpster, ridding his body of all evidence of his encounter with the man, but he could never get rid of the taste.

He could never get rid of it any of the times after that, either.

During Near's seventh year of life, a man came to the orphanage (Near had realised that that was where he was - an orphanage - and that made him an orphan, didn't it? An outcast, a stray, a wretch, _worthless_) asking for him, and Near had nervously gone to meet him in Lucy's office, hugging Optimus Prime (a poor substitute for Heaven) close.

The man was old and kind looking, but Near didn't trust him. He didn't trust anyone now, not really.

"Good morning, Nate," the man had said.

"Good morning." With a look from Lucy, Near quickly added, "Sir." Lucy smiled, and Near felt vaguely nauseous. She reminded him of Heaven, sometimes, and he despised himself for thinking that anyone could ever even _compare_ to his mother.

The old man smiled as well, not unkindly, and asked, "How are you?"

"I am well, sir. 'ow are you?" Near had replied politely. His speech therapist still had yet to convince him to start pronouncing things without his accent, even though he was finding speech therapy easy and could speak without an accent quite easily. Sometimes, he pronounced half a sentence correctly, just to irritate the therapist.

The man's smile widened. "I'm well, thank you. Parlez-vous français?"

Near smiled back tentatively, because this man didn't have such a funny voice, and his French was pretty good. "Oui. Etes-vous français?" The question was pointless because Near already knew the answer, but he was trying to be polite.

"Non. Je suis anglais," the had man said, as if Near hadn't already figured it out. "Et vous?"

Near sat down and hugged a knee to his chest, replying with a quiet, "Je suis français."

The man looked over at Lucy and smiled apologetically. "We are being very rude in speaking French, when our host can't understand us." He obviously didn't know that Lucy could speak fluent (though very accented) French. "Now," he continued, "I've noticed that you seem to be doing very well with your studies, Nate... Brilliantly, in fact."

Near nodded. He'd spent the money he earned doing _jobs_ for people (men, mostly) on books and study material, for the most part. There was nothing else to buy, apart from clothes and toiletries.

The man's smile grew so large that Near wondered if it was hurting. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here, Nate," the man said. "I manage an orphanage for bright children, such as yourself. I was wondering if you were interested in coming to live at Wammy's House and continuing your education there. We will supply anything you need - clothes, toiletries, cellular phones, music players, laptop computers-"

"I don't need all of zat," Near interrupted quite rudely. "I 'ave everysing I need already, Mr..."

"Oh, forgive me. My name is Roger Ruvie, but you may call me Roger." Roger's smile didn't falter. "I'm sure that you'll find Wammy's to your liking, Nate. The orphanage itself is a mansion from the Victorian era, with over two hundred rooms. You may share a room with another child, if you like, but you're perfectly welcome to your own. We have every art supply, musical instrument, and piece of sporting equipment you can imagine. Most of the grounds consists of a forest, a park, and a lake. In addition, we own a library, a chapel-"

"I'll go," Near had said immediately after hearing the word 'library'. He loved reading - it was the only thing left apart from Heaven that he had to be passionate about.

Roger's smile turned positively radiant as he replied, "Obviously, I can't ask you to leave right away - you must have things to gather-"

Once again, Near interrupted the man. "No, I 'ave everysing I need right 'ere."

Near's most prided possessions were the bible that he'd bought with his own money (he didn't like to think about how he'd earned it), his toy, and the photograph of his mother (which still remained under his pillow when he slept, and in his pocket at all other times). He'd picked all three up that morning, because, before he'd been called to Lucy's office, he'd gone to church.

"Very well then. Would you like to say goodbye to anyone?" Roger asked as he stood up.

Near turned around to face Lucy. "Lucy," he said softly, "Merci... You 'ave been..."

Lucy smiled and said sadly, "I'm going to miss you, Nate."

"And I you, Lucy," he whispered, staring at the ground. How could he say this- this _lie_? He missed Heaven, he missed his mother, and nothing could ever compare to that.

Lucy's lower lip trembled as she got up and gave him a short hug. Near felt distinctly uncomfortable, feeling her hands on him.

Roger clapped once, still smiling. "I'm afraid we must go now, Nate."

Near said a quick goodbye to Lucy and followed Roger out of the orphanage, reflecting on the fact that he was leaving his home of two years forever, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

As Near got into Roger's limo (he knew that most children his age would be squealing with glee by this stage, but he couldn't bring himself to care - this whole experience would be so much better if his Heaven still existed, and it could've been avoided completely if she did), he saw Lucy watching him from a window on the third floor - her office window, then - and Near gave her a short wave. He didn't see if she returned the gesture, because the door closed and they were driving away before Near had even sat down properly.

"Now, Nate, for safety purposes, we can't give out your real name. You'll be known as... Near. Please refer to yourself as Near from now on," Roger's voice said over some form of PA system.

Near nodded and hugged his knee. "Do I 'ave to earn my own money?" he asked apprehensively. He didn't fancy much the idea of doing more _jobs._

"Good heavens, no! Everything you need will be supplied to you."

Near let himself relax slightly at that. As long as he didn't do anymore _jobs_, he might be able to redeem himself, scrape away the filth, and see his Heaven again when it was his time.

"One more thing, Near... I'm sorry to say this, but you're going to have to disguise your accent. Ms. Harper-" Lucy, Near supposed, "-told me that you've been taking speech therapy, so it shouldn't be too hard for you."

"I understand," Near lied. He didn't understand what his accent had to do with anything. He was from France and he was proud of it - his mother had made him that way - so why did everyone insist that he had to get rid of the only thing that tied him to her?

"You may go to sleep, if you like. The drive might be quite long," Roger said.

Near had no intentions of falling asleep in this stranger's car, but his worn-out body betrayed him, and he was asleep only a few minutes after Roger's announcement.

When he woke up, it was to a dark, inky, suffocating blackness and the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires. For one short moment, Near imagined that he'd finished a _job_ and the trick had left him unconscious in the alleyway again - it had happened to him more than once.

Roger's voice broke through his thoughts. "Near, glad to see you've woken up. We're here."

Near made to look out the window, only to find that it was tinted and he couldn't see anything out of it. He waited (im)patiently for the car to finally stop, and practically jumped out of the car when Roger opened his door.

Roger smiled and put a gentle, heavy hand on his head. "I'm sure you'll like it here, Near," he said as he led Near up a driveway and into a giant mansion which, true to Roger's word, looked like it was from the Victorian era.

Near wanted to shrug Roger's hand off (he'd long since started associating things on his head with _jobs _and tricks) and fought away the shiver that threatened to run through his form - it was cold and he was scared.

"Now, I've told some children that you'll be coming tonight, so don't be surprised if the whole lot of them are up and waiting," Roger said in a sort of soothing way that reminded Near of a man he'd once seen trying to settle a rabid dog down.

_Is that what I am to him? _Near thought to himself as he watched Roger open a heavy-looking set of doors. _A rabid dog to be pulled under control?_

As the doors opened, Near was nearly blinded by the sheer amount of light coming from this place, and deafened by the noise. When he cautiously followed Roger inside, there was a sudden silence, and Near wish now more than ever that his Heaven was here.

"Everyone," Roger said, his voice loud, "This is Near. Near, this is everyone."

Near clung to Optimus Prime for dear life as he hesitantly stepped out from behind Roger's legs and stared at the hundreds of eyes that were glued to him. He didn't want to be here; maybe he should've just stayed with Lucy, where he was relatively safe.

Roger patted his shoulder lightly and whispered, "Introduce yourself."

"Hello," Near managed to squeak out, his voice ridiculously high.

He was met by a deafening silence.

Near turned to Roger and tried to tell the man that he really didn't want to do this, but he was cut off.

"Off to bed, all of you!" Roger shouted, and the eyes reluctantly tore their gaze away from Near as their owners trudged off to bed. "Unfortunately, since this morning, there's been a change in sleeping arrangements, and the room that I intended for you to have is now being used. This means that you're going to have to share with someone. Is that okay?"

Near nodded and followed Roger (much like an obedient dog) to his room. Near marvelled at that phrase - _his room_. He hadn't slept in a room that didn't have at least four other children in it for two years.

Roger stopped outside a plain, black door and said, "You'll be sharing this room with Mello. If you don't get along with him, we can find you another roommate. Don't be afraid to let us know if anyone's bullying you or making you feel unwelcome, Near." Roger ruffled Near's hair and didn't seem to notice when Near winced. "You'll find everything you need in there, and you have an attached bathroom. I should warn you - the bathroom is shared with two other rooms, so don't be alarmed if you see other boys in there at any time. Now, I think that's about all I have to say. Have a good night, Near. I hope you enjoy your time at Wammy's." With that, Roger turned around and walked away, leaving Near completely alone in the relatively dark corridor, and wishing for some kind of safety.

At least, at Lucy's, Near could be himself to some degree. Now, he couldn't even speak normally. Every word he said would be forced and not at all his.

With a quiet sigh, Near slowly opened the door and tip-toed into his new room. From the dim light provided by the corridor, Near could see that there were two beds in the room - each on opposite walls - with a large window and bookcase on the wall opposite the door. There was a wardrobe just beside the door, and Near saw another door at the foot of one of the beds, which no doubt led to the bathroom.

"Could you shut the bloody door?"

Near looked up at his new roommate, who was sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes groggily. "Dé- Sorry," Near mumbled apologetically and lowered his gaze to his feet.

"Yeah, sure. Now shut the door and go to sleep," his roommate grumbled as he lay back down and groaned.

Near grabbed a pair of pyjamas out of the wardrobe and shuffled to the bathroom. It was bright and big and quite similar to the one that used to be in his old house, the one he'd lived in with his mother; the only difference was that there were a lot more of everything, and they were all in separate stalls.

He quickly stepped into a shower stall, undressed, and washed. The water here was nice and warm (though nothing could ever compare to the warmth of Heaven) and it was so much easier to wash away the repugnant layers of grime that always seemed to cover him than it had been at Lucy's, where the water was always cold. It was strange that no one else seemed to have noticed the filth, but Near didn't pay that fact any attention, because no one really noticed anything about him anymore. His mother would've noticed, but he didn't expect anyone to be able to live up to her standards, and, if even God didn't want him, why would anyone else even pretend to?

He lathered and rinsed his hair three times before he was satisfied, and did the same to the rest of his body, scrubbing until his skin burned. Finally, when he was done, he stepped out of the shower and dressed at a swift pace - being naked felt awkward to him, especially since he'd started taking _jobs_.

"Who the hell are you?"

Near looked up and quickly finished doing up the buttons on his pyjama shirt. "I am Near. Who are you?" he asked, pleased with the fact that his voice sounded relatively accent-less.

The boy looked to be around thirteen, and had dark skin and hair. He looked extremely thin, maybe even skinnier than Near, but quite healthy. "I'm Abel," he replied.

Near noticed with detached interest that Abel had used Spanish pronunciation when saying his name, which prompted Near to think about just how many different nationalities were being housed under Wammy's roof.

"What are you doing?" Abel enquired. He was easily six inches taller than Near, if not more, and Near backed up subconsciously.

"Showering," Near replied quietly as he picked up his Optimus Prime figurine and fiddled with its arms.

Abel nodded and sat down on the counter where the sinks were. "You're new here," he said.

Near didn't know whether or not he was supposed to reply to that, so he kept quiet.

"Who's your roomie?"

"Mello."

Abel frowned, and Near wondered if he'd done something wrong. "Look, kid..." Abel began, and Near shivered lightly at this newest address - sometimes, that's what tricks would call him when he was _working_. "Mello, he's..." Abel ran a hand through his hair. "Just... be careful, alright?"

Near nodded tentatively and retreated back into the bedroom, where he put his dirty clothes in the hamper inside the wardrobe and lay down on his bed. The mattress was much softer than the hard, lumpy one he'd had at Lucy's, but it just didn't feel right - nothing had felt right since his Heaven had died.

"Are you my new roommate, then?" Mello suddenly asked.

"Yes," Near answered quietly. It was dark in this room, and cold, and he was scared.

"Just stay out of my way."

Near shrugged to himself and hugged his knees and Optimus Prime (the one last piece of Heaven that he had left), wishing that his mother was there to tuck him in and tell him a story and kiss him goodnight and tell him how much she loved him.

If he concentrated really hard, he could almost hear her whispering in his ear, _"Je t'adore, Nate."_ And if he focussed even harder, he could almost feel her lips brush softly against his forehead.

Almost.

Near curled around himself tighter and buried his face in his pillow. _J-Je t'adore, Maman. Je te m-manques beaucoup..._

--

Okay. So. Yeah, that was pretty crap.

Anyway, for those of you who can't understand my disgustingly bad French (and I can't say that I blame you if that includes you), here is the translation! Fear not, there won't be much more in later chapters...

Bien sûr, il est, Nate - Of course it is, Nate

Ciel est l'endroit où vous sentir en sécurité et chaleureux et aimé - Heaven is where you feel safe and warm and loved ('Ciel' doesn't literally mean 'Heaven' - it means 'sky', but it's the closest I could get)

Le ciel est ici - It (Heaven) is right here (This actually means 'The sky is here', but... Oh well. My French is poor, and this is the best I could do)

C'est là que vous allez vivre à partir de maintenant, Nate - This is where you'll live from now on, Nate

Je m'appelle Nate/Lucy - My name is Nate/Lucy

Enchantée - Pleased to meet you (I think that it literally means 'enchanted'. You're not meant to translate it literally - it's more akin to 'Pleased to meet you' (because 'I am enchanted' sounds stupid). This is the feminine form of that word - if you want the masculine form, just chop off the 'e' on the end.)

Il s'agit de votre chamber - This is your room

Parlez-vous français? - Do you speak French?

Oui. Etes-vous français? - Yes. Are you French?

Non. Je suis anglais. Et vous? - No. I am English. And you?

Je suis français - I am French

Merci - Thankyou (Anyone who didn't already know that deserves to be shot)

Je t'adore, Maman. Je te manques beaucoup - I love you, Mom. I miss you so much ('Je t'adore' is used here, rather than 'je t'aimé', because 'je t'aimé' is ambiguous and can mean anything from 'I like you' to 'I love you (romantically)'. 'Je t'adore', I think, is more appropriate for family love. I don't know about you, but I'm really not too big on the whole incest thing...)

--

So... Love it? Hate it? Want to shoot me? Let me know! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**:Death Note, as stated in the previous chapter, is not mine.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: Largely death based theme, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, mentions of rape/prostitution, eating disorders, language

**AN**: I'm amazed by how much you guys seem to like this... I... can't really think of anything else to say about that... Other than thank you! :D

I don't like this chapter as much as the previous one - I feel that it's far too choppy and inconsistent, and just doesn't _flow_. It could have been written so much better...

Near may be slightly OOC, but that's because I haven't had a chance to build on his character - he will be IC by the next few chapters, I promise.

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Chapter Two

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Near would always remember the day that held what was, quite possibly, the largest turning point in his relationship with Mello.

It was his first, full day at Wammy's, and it started out fairly normally - Near got up, explored for a few hours, showered, and went to breakfast. He was well-accustomed to sitting by himself - with only Optimus Prime for company - at mealtimes and most other times, so it came as no shock to him that he was alone with his only friend at his breakfast table.

Most of the other children were talking and laughing loudly amongst themselves, so Near sat Optimus on the table in front of him as he ate some of his soup (it was one of the only foods that he could keep down), and spoke quietly to his toy.

"How are you this morning?"

Optimus - Heaven, trapped in a plastic body - watched silently as Near blew some of the steam away from his soup, and ate another spoonful.

"I am quite well, though my sleep was... unsatisfying.

Near imagined, for one moment, that Optimus Prime's plastic brow creased with concern.

"I'm confused as to what I am supposed to do," Near continued, "Roger didn't tell me when I start lessons, so... I don't know." Near took another sip of his soup. "This soup is very nice. Tomato, I think..."

"Who are you talking to?"

Near looked up to find a blonde boy standing in front of him. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" he asked politely.

The boy sneered at him and said, "I'm your roommate, dumbass."

Near had woken up at 3am that morning, just like he usually did. He hadn't seen Mello at all, so it wasn't surprising that he didn't recognise the blonde. "My apologies."

Mello rolled his eyes, sat down at Near's table uninvited, and asked, "So who were you talking to?"

Near couldn't say that he was talking to his mother; he'd look insane because she wasn't there - Heaven didn't exist anymore.

"No one," he replied quietly, and the words burned his throat. It had taken a while to accept it, to accept that she was actually gone - he'd known it to be fact for a while, but had played it off as some kind of sick joke, and had expected her to come and get him from Lucy's with a smile on her face and an explanation on her tongue; it had never really sunk in until he'd seen pictures of their old house, now nothing more than a pile of burned wood, and a photograph of his mother's gravestone. She'd been buried beside Near's grandparents, and Near knew that that was where she'd want to be.

Mello raised an eyebrow, and said, "...Right. Anyway, Roger asked me to tell you about things here at Wammy's. First thing's first: Don't talk to yourself at breakfast, unless you want the other kids to bash you so that they don't catch your crazy. Second of all, _why_ do you have a toy at the table?"

Near hugged Optimus defensively. "To play with." He thought that it was obvious - he wanted company from someone who wouldn't notice his filth, who wouldn't judge him, who wouldn't ask him to _work_, who would miss him if he was gone - someone perfect, like his Maman.

"Okay... Third point: Why the _hell_ are you playing with a toy at the table? You've gotta be what... Five? Six?" Mello asked as he pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket and started unwrapping it.

"I'm seven," Near said flatly, "and, though I appreciate it, I don't need your help. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you." How dare Mello insult Heaven - didn't he know that God wouldn't want him if he did that?

Mello's fairly amiable expression quickly changed into one of anger. "I'm trying to help you out here, newbie," he said in a low, threatening voice.

Near stood up. "And I said that I appreciate it, but it's unnecessary." He quickly started walking away, with no destination in mind. He'd gone this way this morning and found nothing interesting - the common room, a few empty storerooms, a classroom, and a bathroom. Near went into the common room and found himself a secluded corner, where he sat down and resumed his conversation with Optimus Prime.

"Mello... He's my roommate... Apparently, I have to be careful around him," Near said softly, hugging one knee to his chest and holding his toy at arm's length. "It's not that I dislike him... I don't really know him well enough to pass judgement... but he seems to be arrogant and far too used to getting his own way for my liking."

Optimus stared at him and Near imagined for a moment or two that its plastic eyes narrowed slightly.

Near sighed quietly and started playing with his hair with his free hand. "Don't look at me like that. He _is_."

Optimus continued to look at Near disapprovingly, until Near sighed again and apologised.

"I'm sorry, Maman... He was just trying to help, after all..." He couldn't bring himself to feel upset by the way that he'd just addressed his toy - it was how he'd always addressed it, after all, and he wanted the address to be true with all his heart (even when he knew that his heart was filthy and didn't deserve to have any of its deepest desires fulfilled).

"But... I'm scared," he continued in a whisper, "because there is no one that I know here, and I don't want to make friends because... b-because what happens if they ask me f-for... _that_?" Near shuddered lightly. "My last friend did. Do you remember Adam? I... He forced me to do _that_... He didn't even give me any money..."

Near imagined that Optimus' eyebrows drew together in a scowl.

Near frowned lightly. "I needed the money, Maman. Don't look at me like that. It isn't _my_ fault." And that was true - he'd kicked and screamed silently, and put up such a good defence that he could hardly remember it now (he'd somehow managed to convince himself to forget most of it). The only thing that evidenced that the incident had happened at all were the scars littered across his torso from Adam's nails and a small Swiss-Army knife.

"...But it isn't your fault, either... I'm sorry, Maman," he mumbled, noticing that some other children were giving him odd looks. He smiled tentatively at them, and they immediately ran to the other side of the room. Near sighed once again - everyone would always hate him, no matter what he did, and there was no point in trying to change that fact.

"Do you see?" he asked softly. "They already hate me. There is no point in trying to befriend them. Just think... What would they do if they knew about _that_?" Near allowed himself a small, self-deprecating, and ridiculously unhappy smile.

Optimus returned sad smile and Near hugged the toy close, letting himself imagine that it was his mother, his Heaven, and that the cold, hard plastic of the figurine was her soft, warm flesh.

"I just... I... J-Je t'adore, M-Maman... Je t-te manques..." he whispered as he kissed the toy's head. He missed his Heaven so much that it hurt his chest sometimes - his heart ached and his head hurt and his eyes stung and his throat burned. "J-Je ne devrais pas a-avoir à gauche vous. Je suis d-désolé, Maman... Je s-suis tellement désolé," he managed to force out through the sudden tightness in his throat.

"The Hell are you doing?"

Near looked up at Mello, letting Optimus fall to his lap (his hopes falling with it), and said, "Playing."

Mello scowled at him and growled, "Don't lie to me. I don't care what you to with your toy - that's your business - but don't make-out with it in the middle of the common room. That's just gross."

Near looked at Optimus Prime, whose features were completely back to normal. "What is 'make-out'?" he asked curiously.

Mello stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar, before he recovered a few moments later and asked, "Are you _kidding_ me?!"

"I'm not kidding," Near said impassively. He didn't care if Mello didn't tell him; he didn't need to know, or he already would.

"I'm not explaining the logistics of foreplay to you."

Near shuddered lightly. Sometimes, the tricks liked to play with him before he _worked_ on them. He'd once asked the trick what he was doing and earned a slap for it. The trick had said that it was just a bit of fun, that he could show Near Heaven, and didn't Near did know what foreplay was? Near had wanted to tell the man that he already _knew_ Heaven, had as good as killed her himself, and that he missed her every day, but his mouth had already been occupied and he couldn't speak for the way that he had choked.

"So... Is that toy your...?" Mello started awkwardly.

Near lowered his gaze to Optimus, who looked up at him encouragingly, and smiled as he said, "It's my friend."

Mello quirked an eyebrow and muttered, "Right... Anyway, just... Okay. Right." He turned around and walked away.

Near watched him go, before putting Optimus down on the ground in front of him and sighing. "Do you see now?" he asked softly. "They would never understand, and I... I don't need friends. Friends are weaknesses. I have you, and that's all that I need."

A group of children sat in the corner adjacent to his, talking amongst themselves and pointing at him occasionally.

Near petted Optimus' head as if he was smoothing back hair, just like his mother used to do for him. "They are talking about me, you know. They used to do it at Lucy's..."

"_Who _is_ that kid?"_

"_I don't know, but I'd stay away from him, if I was you... He just sits there, playing with his toys all day. He hardly ever talks, and I've never seen him eat. It's like he's not even human."_

"_What a freak."_

"I... I _am_ a freak," Near pondered quietly. "My only friend is a figurine, who I speak to as if it was my mother, I practically live off soup, I'm an albino, I'm extremely underweight and quite short for my age, I sit strangely, I hardly ever talk... Yes. I am a freak."

Maybe it should have hurt, but Near had been hearing it for most of his life - soon, his voice would blend into the general crowd's until he couldn't tell the difference, and by that stage it wouldn't even matter what he thought.

One of the children who had been talking about him was slowly approaching now. She was obviously hesitant, and kept glancing back at her friends.

The ease with which the girl fit in probably should have stung to Near, who had only ever known affection from Heaven and Lucy, but he didn't mind so much - the promise of Heaven waiting for him forever made it easier to cope with his loneliness.

"Hello," the girl said when she was finally within Near's hearing range. She stood back slightly, as if Near had some kind of terminal illness.

"Hello," Near replied politely.

The girl scuffed her feet, her gaze on the floor - it looked like she was afraid of meeting his eyes. "Umm... My name's Linda. You're Near, right?" she asked, sounding breathless.

Near looked at Linda's feet too, to see if what she was staring at was as fascinating as she was making it out to be. There was nothing particularly notable; in fact, the most interesting thing was that Linda's shoelaces were uneven. Near tightened his hold around Optimus Prime in an effort to prevent himself from reaching out and straightening this stranger's shoelaces.

Linda cleared her throat quietly, and Near realised with a start that he'd been staring. How foolish of him.

"Yes," he replied. He vaguely wondered what she wanted. She didn't want to be his friend (no one ever did), that much was obvious. Was she looking for a _favour_?

Near was about to open his mouth and tell Linda that he would most certainly _not_ be _working_ on anyone at Wammy's, when Optimus Prime gave him a stern glare.

"Sorry, Maman..." Near whispered, quiet enough that Linda didn't hear it, but just loud enough that it might reach Optimus.

Optimus' glare disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and Near smiled slightly at his toy.

"So... Do you like playing with toys?" Linda asked, her words coming out in a rush. Her voice was high and slightly irritating - Near had a feeling that he was going to get a headache soon.

Near started tugging on his hair lightly, hoping to fend off the headache, and replied, "Yes."

To Near's dismay (though it didn't show, because he didn't want to scare people away), Linda sat down in front of him and started playing with her hair. Near's hands immediately fell away from his.

"I like painting," she said happily.

Near sighed inwardly. He didn't like talking too much to anyone - it was easy to reveal weaknesses when your mouth was too big, and Near knew better than anyone that his weaknesses would only be used against him.

"It's heaps of fun, don't you think?"

With a half-nod to satisfy Linda, Near started playing with Optimus Prime.

Linda continued to ramble on about some nonsense, and Near completely ignored her. He didn't need any friends here, because they brought on potential weakness - but, at the same time, he didn't want to be completely alone, so being courteous was essential.

Suddenly, something cold trickled down the back of Near's shirt, startling him badly, but the shock only showed in the slight widening of his eyes. He'd learned at Lucy's that showing a reaction would only feed the flame that seemed to chase him wherever he went, and if he let how much it hurt him show, it would engulf him entirely.

"Sorry. Accident, I swear," one of the children sneered at him, and Near didn't bother to spare them a second glance. He got up and walked straight to his room - there was no point in even being upset about this, because it wasn't the first that this had happened, nor would it be the last (but it still hurt that people hated him so much) - and into the adjoining bathroom.

He stripped quickly and stepped into the shower, not bothering to notice whether the water was hot or cold. He needed to get rid of the _filth_.

"Disgusting... Filthy... _Sale_..." Near scrubbed mindlessly at his skin. "Need to get it off, need to get clean," he chanted quietly, over and over. The dirt from the tricks never seemed to come off (or the dirt that accumulated through the burning hatred that everyone felt for him and that he tried not to return) and the newest impurity would leave its own stain, but it didn't hurt to try and rid himself of it. He didn't like being so dirty - Heaven had always been clean and pure and anything but _dirty_, and Near wasn't partial to feeling so unworthy of her.

"Need to get it off, need to be clean again, need to make it go away, need to wash the dirt away..."

"Is that you, Near?" Near heard Abel ask from the other side of the cubicle door.

"Yes," Near replied. He took to chanting his mantra in his head, as speaking it out loud would only make him look insane in the eyes of his roommates.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." _Wash away the dirt, get it off, need to be clean again... _The cloth that Near was using to wash himself with was burning his skin, but he didn't care. He needed to be clean again, or God would never deem him good enough to join Him and see Heaven again; even worse, Heaven wouldn't _want_ to see him.

"It just seems like a weird time to be having a shower, that's all..." Abel trailed off.

Near refrained from pointing out that if it was a weird time to shower, then why was Abel showering too?

After a few minutes of intense scrubbing, Near felt that he was satisfactory (for now) and got out of the shower, a towel around his waist.

"Jesus! What the hell happened to you, Near?!"

Near quickly covered his chest with his arms. "What do you mean?" he asked, proud of the way that his voice didn't waver.

Abel openly stared at him (and it made Near more than slightly uncomfortable), his eyes wide, as he exclaimed, "Y-You... What the hell _happened_?!" He pointed at Near's chest.

Near looked down and found that his chest was rubbed raw, and that there were abrasions where his washcloth had broken through his skin. _But I'm clean now..._

"I'm fine," Near replied flatly. "Thank you for your concern." He went back into the shower cubicle and picked up Optimus Prime (who had been turned around to face the wall while Near had showered), before he walked back into his room.

Thankfully, Mello was not there.

Near hid Optimus Prime under the blankets on his bed - his Maman had never dressed in front of him, so he didn't want to dress in front of her.

He inspected the grazes on his chest more closely and realised that some of them looked quite painful, but he couldn't feel any soreness. He felt warm and safe (maybe he was deluding himself when he thought that this was nearly as good as Heaven) and, while he didn't feel loved, he felt accomplished, but most fulfilling of all was the fact that he felt _clean_.

He touched one of the largest abrasions lightly and hissed quietly at the small sting. Near considered, with a small smile, that if this was the price is to pay for cleanliness, then he'd do it every day. He trailed his finger lightly across another injury and let his smile widen. _I'm _clean_. Well... relatively._

"What the _fuck_?!"

Near looked up at Mello, who was staring at him incredulously from the doorway, and asked, "Was there anything that you wanted, Mello?" Near was extremely thankful of the fact that he had a towel around his waist, but he felt disgusting and exposed with his torso uncovered.

Mello closed his eyes and shook his head quickly. "Just... get dressed. Do you know where the hospital wing is?"

Near quickly slipped his pyjamas on (they were far more comfortable than the other stuffy clothing that the people here were trying to get him to wear) and picked Optimus up from under the covers with a quiet request for forgiveness - it had to be quite suffocating under there.

"No, I don't," Near said in response to Mello's question as he sat down on his bed, hugging his toy by way of apology. He didn't know what he'd do if his only friend, his Heaven, was mad at him.

"Get up. I'm going to show you."

Near didn't move. He didn't need to go to the hospital wing (he'd experienced much worse injuries before and had coped with them without so much as a Band-Aid) - what he needed right now was to make sure that Optimus Prime wasn't mad at him.

"I'm fine," he replied.

Mello quirked an eyebrow. "Umm... In case you hadn't noticed," he said sarcastically, "you've got marks all over your chest."

Near absent-mindedly touched one of the injuries through his shirt. It stung, certainly, but there was still no pain. Near wondered if that was normal, before considering that he had never been normal, so it didn't really matter.

He said, "Yes, I know that. They're hardly life-threatening. Medical attention isn't necessary."

While it was true that his life wasn't in danger, Near wasn't so sure that he shouldn't go and see the nurse - the grazes could get infected. Near had had infected wounds on his knees (he'd once made the mistake of wearing shorts to _work_, and the gravel, glass, and dirt had cut into his knees), and he didn't particularly want to have to go through that again - he'd had to force down tablets every day for a few weeks to make the infection go away.

Mello scowled and grabbed onto Near's arm abruptly (and didn't seem to notice Near's small wince), growling, "To be honest, I only asked because I was being polite. You're going to the hospital wing to get those... _things_ checked out, whether you like it or not."

Near didn't remember standing up, opening his mouth, or the reason behind doing either, but his mouth and legs seemed to know what they were doing. "Does your offer still stand?" he heard himself ask.

Mello gave him an odd look. "What?"

"Your offer to show me around," Near clarified, surprised by how much sense he was unintentionally making. His arm was starting to go numb - Mello's grip was so tight that his circulation was being cut off, and Near feared, for one ridiculous moment, that his arm would fall off.

Mello's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. ...Sure..." he replied in a surprised tone, before loosening his hold on Near's arm slightly and dragging him out of the room.

Near stumbled after his roommate, struggling to keep up, and started curling his hair around the fingers of his free hand.

"Obviously, you already know where the common room is," Mello said conversationally, "and I'm going to assume that you know about the chapel, the pool, the library, and everything else."

Near didn't know whether or not Mello was expecting an answer, so he settled for nodding silently. The few children that were in the hallways stared at them, as if seeing an albino seven year old being dragged along by his roommate (who was somehow managing to eat a chocolate bar and talk at the same time) was odd. Near didn't blame them.

"Was there anywhere in particular that you wanted to see?" Mello asked, sounding for all the world like he hadn't noticed the stares.

Near was torn between sticking to his routine and praying in the chapel (and he knew that he'd regret it later if he ruined his routine - his routine was safe, and he stuck to it to the point where he might be called obsessive), and disregarding his routine to visit the library, out of curiosity. He hadn't brought any of his books with him to Wammy's, apart from his Bible, and he wanted very much to see what the resources here were like. It all came down to what he wanted to see more - a collection of books, or Heaven.

Near doubted that he'd ever really had a choice at all.

"I'd like to see the chapel," Near requested quietly, and he wondered if he'd said or done something strange, because Mello was staring at him like he was odd, an abnormality. Near wanted to shift away from the scrutiny - he knew that he was different, that he would never fit in, that he was a freak, so why did everyone have to keep treating him like he was unaware of it? - because it made him feel like he was waiting for a _job_, and one of the tricks was deciding whether or not he was worth it, giving Near the chance to walk away if he really wanted to. He'd always hated those moments before a _job_; the trick would size him up, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted them to stay or leave - was the money really worth the filth that it came wrapped in?

Mello shook his head slightly, as if trying to dismiss his thoughts, before he started walking again (Near realised with a start that they'd stopped), and Near followed him.

The children were still staring at them, so Near fixed his gaze firmly on his sock-clad feet. He'd learned a while ago that having bare feet was dangerous - glass, rocks, old cans, and all sorts of things that resided in alleys could break through even the tough skin of his heels, and, though socks didn't help much, if he stepped lightly, they at least protected his feet from most injuries.

They silently walked through Wammy's House, until, after what Near estimated had been four and a half minutes, they stopped in front of a large door that had the words 'Hospital Wing' emblazoned on them.

Near turned around to look at Mello, before saying, "Mello, I told you that I don't-"

Mello shrugged and opened the doors, before pushing Near inside. "Too bad," he said simply.

The hospital wing was white, sterile, and smelled strongly of cleaning products and medicine. There were beds against the walls on either side of the door, and Mello led Near straight down the middle, to what had to be the nurse's office.

Mello didn't knock on the door, which Near found rude - instead, he opened the door and stepped inside, with absolutely no regard for the nurse's privacy. Near frowned to himself, but let Mello pull him into the room.

The nurse, a kind-looking, middle-aged woman, was sitting at her desk, and looked up when she heard them enter. "Hello, Mello. Who's your friend?" she asked.

Near wanted to reply that he was, most definitely, no one's friend, because no one wanted him, and they had good reason not to - he was a freak; Mello must have agreed, because he hastily let go of Near's arm.

"Near," Mello said.

The nurse smiled gently and said, as if addressing a three year old, "It's very nice to meet you, Near. I'm Ms. Hooper. What would you like, dear?"

Near wanted to like this woman, because she seemed nice and caring, but he was far too wary, and he didn't appreciate how she was belittling him.

When Near didn't say anything, Mello rolled his eyes and answered, "I don't know what he did, but he's got some... things on his chest."

Ms. Hooper kept on smiling at Near, her teeth yellowed with age. "Did you want to take your shirt off for me, Near?"

What could he say - 'No, actually, I don't'?

With a quiet sigh, Near managed to manoeuvre his shirt and Optimus Prime so that nothing below his chest was visible, but he still felt extremely exposed. When the nurse and Mello immediately started staring like he was some kind of science experiment, he ducked his head and tried not to start shaking.

He held Optimus in front of him, as if the toy was his plastic shield, and wished that he was anywhere but here. He wished that Heaven was still alive - she would never have let this happen; he wished that he knew his father - they could've lived together, and Near never would've had to _work_; he wished that someone would come and take him far, far away from the scrutiny and the pitying, evaluating eyes.

Like usual, his silent pleas went unanswered, and Near wondered, for the umpteenth time, why even God didn't want to hear him.

"Well..." the nurse began, "those look quite painful. What happened?"

Near knew better than to think that she cared - she was only asking because it was her job.

"I walked into the bathroom and found him like this. Fix it," Mello demanded, still staring at Near.

Mello didn't care, either; he had to be doing and saying all of this to save his own neck. Hopefully Abel wouldn't say something, or Roger would, most definitely, come to investigate what had happened, and Near didn't really want to strip for even more people.

The nurse gave Near one of those horrible assessing looks, and said, "I won't ask you for the details this time, dear, but if it happens again, I'm afraid that I won't have a choice."

Near nodded his understanding (and tried not to look too relieved, because that would seem odd), and watched with mild discomfort as Ms. Harper wiped his wounds with an alcohol swab. It stung a lot - so much that Near had to pull on his hair harshly to distract himself from the pain - but he didn't mind. If it made him only a little bit worthier of Heaven, just that little bit cleaner, then Near couldn't protest.

After the nurse had put band-aids on the largest injuries, she smiled again and said, "All done," as if Near was four years old.

Near quickly pulled his shirt back on, wary of Mello's and Ms. Harper's eyes - he felt like they were burning right through his skin and searing him to the bone.

"Now, dear, please be careful, and if you think that those grazes look like they're getting infected, don't hesitate to come back," the nurse said kindly as she ushered them out.

Mello led Near out of the hospital wing without a word.

Near looked down at Optimus Prime, whom he was holding, and whispered, "See? I _told_ you he's arrogant."

Optimus ignored him, and Near felt a pang of annoyance, as well as a hint of anxiety - what had he done to make his only friend so upset with him?

"...I'm sorry..." he muttered quietly, and lowered his gaze to the ground in shame. He shouldn't judge others so easily - he didn't like it when they did it to him, after all; it wasn't fair of him to do it to them.

Mello led him outside, and Near marvelled at the sheer size of the grounds. Near had caught a train to London, once, and he'd been amazed by the Park, in particular; in fact, he'd been sure that it had to be the largest stretch of grass in the world. Apparently, it wasn't. While Lucy's had a small patch of grass and an even smaller pond, the Wammy's grounds looked like they were the size of three Hyde Parks.

Mello pointed to a building on the horizon. "See that building?" he asked. When Near nodded, he continued, "If you go around the side of it, you'll be right in the middle of Winchester. There are some shops and stuff over there; it's where everyone goes in their free period."

Near squinted hard at the building, and, sure enough, he could see lights flashing faintly, marking the presence of shops and cars.

They continued down a flight of stone steps - Near wondered how old everything here was - and came to stop in front of a thick cluster of trees.

"Some kids grown stuff in here, so don't step on anything, unless you want Roger after your arse," Mello said as he walked into the small forest, and Near wondered if Mello was attempting to be humorous, and why he'd bother.

Near followed behind him slowly. As expected, as soon as he was in the forest, the sun seemed to disappear, and Near was left to fumble nervously in the darkness until his eyes adjusted.  
There were several different types of trees - oaks, pines, and maples, from what Near could tell (but that could have been wrong - he was no botanist) - and more flowers then Near could count - he recognized roses, daisies, and poppies. Though he liked it in here (it was beautiful), the pollen immediately made Near's nose itch, and he started sneezing and sniffling quietly - he was allergic to it.

Suddenly, Mello asked, "Do you believe in God?"

Near started tugging at his hair and hugged Optimus Prime closer. He'd asked himself that question so many times, but he'd never come up with a half-way decent answer. _I _want_ to... but I don't know whether I do or not, or if I'm just tricking myself into thinking that I'm buying into it, because I want to so badly._

He looked down at his hand, his fingers curled around Optimus Prime's figure, and replied, "I believe in Heaven."

Mello gave him that odd, searching look again, and Near felt uncomfortable. Mello wouldn't ask for _that_, would he? Near subconsciously started noting every gap between the trees, every means of escape that they passed, just in case Mello _did_ ask, because Near couldn't give him anything. He didn't need to _work_ here, Roger had said so, so Near wouldn't do it anymore, even if it meant that Mello would hurt him.

"Well... Here we are," Mello said as they stepped out of the forest, and Near found that it was a completely unnecessary statement, because the tall building in front of them was obviously a chapel.

"How tall do you think it is?" Mello asked amicably, but Near heard the challenge.

'Are you smart enough to guess?' it asked.

Near hummed softly and looked up at the position of the sun in the sky, then at the building's shadow on the ground, before looking the building up and down. He did a few quick calculations in his head - math had always been his best subject - and double-checked his answer, just in case he'd made a mistake.

"Around one hundred and thirty meters," Near stated quietly. He could be wrong - after all, he'd only used this technique once, and he'd never had his work checked by anyone before.

Mello's eyes narrowed as he said, "It's one hundred and thirty-two metres tall. Good guess."

Near replied (and not because he wanted to brag, but because he wanted Mello to have the right facts), "It wasn't a guess. I estimated the -"

Mello's eyes became slits, and Near wondered how he was still able to see. "Good estimate, then," he muttered, before walking into the chapel.

Near stood still for a few moments - had he done something wrong? - and tried to ignore the tightening in his chest (they were alone out here; Mello could do anything to Near and everyone would be none the wiser) as he followed Mello inside.

The outside of the chapel was beautiful - there were intricate carvings on every flat surface, the stained-glass windows casting abstract shadows on them - but the inside was magnificent. There were paintings, windows, or tapestries on every wall that Near could see. There was an aisle, between the rows of benches, which led to the altar, which was backed by statues of the Virgin Mary and Jesus. The windows started halfway up the walls, but reached right to the top of the high ceiling and lit up the chapel beautifully. On either side of the altar were two staircases which had to lead to the small balconies over-looking the benches, and Near longed to go up there and see how distorted the grounds would look through the colourful glass of the windows.

"Did you want me to leave?" Mello asked, bringing Near out of his awe-induced stupor.

"If you want," Near replied politely, stepping aside so that an elderly couple could enter the chapel. He frowned. "Roger said that the chapel was a part of Wammy's grounds…" Near thought aloud. He regretted it immediately, as Mello slapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him behind a tapestry.

"Are you _insane_?!" Mello hissed. "You can't say that name here - do you _want_ us both to be killed?!"

Near hugged Optimus Prime to his chest. Roger had failed to mention that he was potentially in danger at Wammy's, and Near didn't want to die, not yet - he wasn't clean enough to see Heaven yet.

He wanted to tell Mello that no one had informed him of any rules regarding saying 'Wammy's'; only his own name had to be hidden, according to Roger - but Mello's hand was on his mouth, and it would have been unhygienic to speak.

Mello's eyes were bright, despite the darkness that surrounded them. "Answer me!" he growled.

Near's eyes widened when Mello slapped his cheek (was it wrong to think that the warmth dripping down the side of his face, ridding his veins of filth, was the closest to Heaven that Near had ever gotten?). He quickly shook his head, and relaxed minimally when Mello removed his hand from his mouth.

"Roger didn't tell me anything about saying… that," Near murmured.

Mello frowned, procuring a chocolate bar from who-knows-where to take a bite out of it. "Let me fill you in," he said softly, "You that say name, all of us at '_the place_' die. '_The man_' needs us, so that wouldn't be too great."

Near chewed on his lip lightly. None of it made sense - speaking the name of an orphanage would _kill_ people? Come to think of it, would speaking his own name kill _him_? Wasn't that a bit far-fetched?

"I don't understand. Who's '_the man_'?" Near asked.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Near shook his head.

Mello looked scandalized. "Okay," he whispered, "Do you know who the best detective in the world is?"

Near wondered if this was some twisted kind of joke. "Sherlock Holmes?" he suggested blandly. This wasn't funny - in fact, it was pretty stupid. What did 'the best detectives in the world' have to do with anything?

Mello choked on a piece of his chocolate, and Near didn't know whether or not he was supposed to try and dislodge it, so he stood still and watched Mello try to extricate the chocolate from his throat.

Eventually, after much coughing, choking, and glaring on Mello's part, and blank staring, hair twirling, and toy hugging on Near's part, the offending piece of chocolate flew out of Mello's mouth and onto the floor.

Near shifted away from it slightly. _Yuck. That's disgusting._

"You don't know who L is?" Mello spluttered indignantly.

Near had heard about 'L' on the news several times, and thought that the whole charade was rather stupid and pointless. If 'L' really wanted to hide his identity so badly, then why didn't he speak through others and let _them_ take the credit for his work?

As it stood, it was fairly obvious to Near that one of 'L's real names started with the letter 'l', and that 'L's real names weren't common - why else would he choose to be represented by that letter, and that letter alone? Surely, if 'L' had an ordinary name like 'Larry', he could just go by that - there were many 'Larry's in the world.

But this was still assuming that knowing someone's real name could kill them, and Near didn't think that that was possible.

"No, I don't know who he is, but I've heard of the person who hides behind the letter," Near finally replied.

Mello's frown deepened. "You say that like…" he trailed off, before shaking his head lightly. "Look," he continued, "at '_the place_', we work toward being '_the man_'_s_ successor. Roger told you that '_the place_' is for bright kids, right?"

Near nodded. This was definitely a lame joke. Why would a group of orphans be candidates for becoming a pathetic detective who hid himself away from the world?

"That's not true, not entirely. It's not for bright kids - it's for _the brightest_ kids from around the world."

Near gazed down at Optimus, who looked just as annoyed as he felt. "This isn't funny," Near said as he turned to leave.

Mello grabbed his arm and hissed, "What's the product of two hundred and thirty-four, and fifty-seven?"

"Thirteen thousand, three hundred, and eight," Near answered instantly, without thinking, before his eyes grew wider and he let Mello pull him back.

He'd always been quite good at mathematics, but did that make him a genius? Surely everyone else was just as apt at math as he was, because he wasn't _smart_ - if he was smart, he would've stayed with Heaven, would've burned with her.

Mello gave him a crooked grin. "Do you see now?" he whispered excitedly, "Do you _see_? You weren't chosen because you're _good_ - you were chosen because you're the _best_."

Near shook his head. Mello didn't understand - he wasn't '_the best_' at _anything_. There had to be people out there who were better than him; there _had_ to be.

"This is some kind of stupid joke, isn't it? Congratulations, it worked. I-"

Mello's eyebrows furrowed as he muttered, "You don't believe me, do you?"

Near snorted quietly. He wanted to reply with a sarcastic, '_No_, what_ever_ gave you that idea?', but he thought that it was best not to be rude in a House of God.

Mello sighed. "I thought that it was a joke, too, but it's not. Every kid at '_the place_' is working toward succeeding '_the man_'. Didn't you wonder why there were kids speaking all sorts of languages there? Didn't you wonder why they brought you all the way here from wherever you came from, without asking you to pay so much as one Euro? You're not British, I'm not British, and half of the other kids at '_the place_' aren't either - didn't you wonder why that was? Mr," he lowered his voice, "_Wammy_ finds us and brings us to '_the place_', where we learn all sorts of things: languages, mathematics, physics, all sorts of sciences, human psychology, sociology, criminology, law, physical education, and the arts. We're ranked one to however many kids there are at '_the place_', depending on our grades, and the kid who's number one will probably be chosen as L's successor. I'm number one at the moment, and I worked my arse off to get there. You're smart- you'll make it to the top ten easily, but it takes work to maintain your position, which is why you don't see kids running around and being stupid. This is serious. It's hard work. Do you get it now? This is _real_."

Near frowned, tugging his arm free of Mello's grip. Why didn't he just give the joke up? It was starting to get on Near's nerves, now. "Joke's over. I'm not a genius. I'm-"

For the third time that day, Mello interrupted him. "What's the capital city of New South Wales, Australia?" he asked.

Near frowned and answered, "Sydney, but that's-"

Mello quirked an eyebrow. "In English, what is a synonym for 'bravery', starting with 'g'?"

Near's frown deepened. "'Gumption', but it's not-"

Mello raised his voice slightly, "Square root of one thousand, four hundred, and sixty, point one six is?"

Near paused for a moment before answering, "Forty-nine point six, but-"

Mello spoke over him again, "A German word commonly used in English, with the literal translation of 'double walker' is?"

Near was starting to get angry, now. The joke was up. What was Mello trying to prove? "It's doppelgänger, and you have no-"

Mello rolled his eyes and grabbed Near's shoulders, stooping slightly so that they were at eye-level. "The Egyptian celebration of the sun is more commonly known as?"

Near could feel Mello's breath on his face - Dear Lord, it smelled like chocolate, and nicotine, and alcohol, and everything that made Near sick - and turned away from it. He sighed softly and answered, "Christmas."

"How many other kids do you think could answer those questions? Do you see now?" Mello asked quietly.

'No,' Near wanted to answer, 'I don't see. I killed Heaven and watched her burn. I worked as a common whore to get by. I left safety stupidly to go to a place that I'd never been before, with a complete stranger. I'm not a genius - I'm a freak.'

Instead, he nodded, and waited for the punch-line. There was no point in making Mello hate him before he had to (and it was certain that he _would_ hate Near - as certain as the sun rising tomorrow), so Near would let Mello have his little joke.

Mello leaned in slightly - and Near could almost taste the chocolate from his breath now - as he whispered, "You're pretty smart, you know..."

Near took in a sharp breath and tried to ignore how close they were and how dark it was and how confined the space behind the tapestry was and how little air seemed to be getting to his lungs, and answered, "So are you." He hoped that he sounded calmer than he felt; when had he ever gained anything other than a few new names and bruises from showing any form of weakness, any emotion since Heaven had died?

Mello hummed under his breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as if deep in thought, his mouth moving - he might have been singing, but for the fact that Near could hear no sound falling from his lips.

"You..." he finally murmured, "Did you... We could be friends, if you like..." he trailed off hopefully.

Near hesitated for a moment. Oh God, he wanted to agree so badly that it made his chest ache and his breath catch in his throat, but he didn't know what Mello's intentions were, and it would only hurt later if he consented to a friendship now - it would hurt more if he agreed to be friends with Mello and became attached to him, only to have Mello turn around and say that he knew what a freak Near was now, that the friendship was a mistake, and that he hated him, rather than having Mello hate him now; after all, you could fall out of love and friendships could be broken, but who had ever heard of someone falling out of hate?

Near looked down at Optimus Prime, seeking advice, only to find himself being studiously ignored by the toy.

He sighed and thought, _He'll only hurt me... I don't need that, _before saying softly, "I don't need friends."

It sounded harsh and cold, even to his own ears; it seemed to echo in the small space behind the tapestry, mocking Mello: 'I don't need _you_.'

Mello recoiled as if Near's words had stung him. His eyes dulled for a long moment, and Near felt his gut clench, before Mello regained his senses and sneered, "Freak," before walking out from behind the tapestry.

When Near heard Mello's footsteps fade away, he slumped to the ground and pressed his forehead to Optimus Prime's. He could deal with sneering, he could deal with taunts, and he could deal with hatred, but the look in Mello's eyes - so betrayed and disappointed and anger and _hurt_ - made him feel sick. He knew what hopelessness felt like; he knew what it felt like to feel so betrayed and disappointed and angry and hurt that it made him physically ill, and the thought that he'd just made someone else feel that way...

_Well,_ Near thought grimly, _he has every reason to hate me now... and he would have done anyway. I suppose I just sped up the process a bit._

Optimus Prime frowned in the darkness, and Near could almost feel himself melting from the heat of the sense of absolute _hatred_ that Mello had left behind. In fact, he could feel something trickling down the side of his face, and he reached up to touch it tentatively. His fingers met a small lump covered in congealing fluid - it had to be blood - and he winced quietly, before drawing his hand back.

Near could see the dark liquid staining his fingertips, now, and shuddered - he'd been in this situation far too many times before; broken and bleeding and abandoned in the dark, but it felt different this time. This time, the filth was spewing from his veins, rather than being shot into his body, and it felt every bit as warm and safe as Heaven - surely it wasn't supposed to feel this good.

He brushed his finger lightly over his newest injury again, and wanted to smile from the resulting sting. He repeated the action, and the half-scabbed-over wound re-opened. Near didn't care that it hurt - the filth was in his blood, so he had to get it out of his body to be worthy of Heaven again, and he was doing that now; it felt good.

Optimus Prime's frown faltered for a moment, and Near realised exactly what he was doing, how stupid he was being.

_What am I thinking?_

Near looked at Optimus with wide eyes and whispered, "M-Maman... J'ai besoin de t-ton aide..."

Optimus' expression didn't change, and Near sighed quietly - what had he done to make even Heaven so upset with him? He'd been trying to get rid of the filth, he'd tried so hard; wasn't it enough?

"J-Je vous e-en prie..." he cried softly, "Tout l-le monde d-déteste-moi... Je n-ne sais p-pas quoi f-faire!"

Optimus still wasn't being forthcoming with advice, and Near started to feel desperate. Had he done the wrong thing in rejecting Mello's friendship? Had he somehow offended Heaven by saying something like that in a church? Was it because he'd spent his time chatting instead of praying that she was so upset with him? Did she think that he wasn't worth her time anymore? Did she even _like_ him still?

It was with these doubts swimming in his mind that Near asked despondently, "A-Aidez-moi, M-Maman..."

When Optimus remained unhelpful, Near let out a small wail and hugged the toy so close that it dug into his ribs hard enough to leave bruises.

"P-Please don't be m-mad at me," he choked out, and he couldn't tell if he was speaking English, French, or some strange mixture of the two. It didn't matter, anyway - Optimus still wasn't helping him, and he wasn't any nearer to knowing what to do and how to fix what he'd done wrong.

He was no closer to Heaven now than he ever had been; in fact, he may have taken a few steps in the wrong direction entirely. Near just wanted everything to go back to the way that it was before the fire - Heaven would love him again and they would be happy together and play and have fun and Near would grow up and marry someone just like his Maman and they could all be happy together and he would be _clean_.

Optimus Prime was still frowning, and Near didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to make it all better, and all of his efforts just seemed to be making things worse.

With a quiet sob, Near hugged his toy and his knee close, and started crying hopelessly.

_Je vous en prie, Maman... J'ai besoin de toi..._

-----

Je t'adore, Maman. Je te manques - I love you, Mom. I miss you

Je ne devrais pas avoir à gauche vous. Je suis désolé, Maman - I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry

Sale - Dirty

J'ai besoin de ton aide. Je vous en prie... Tout le monde déteste-moi... Je ne sais pas quoi faire! Aidez-moi, Maman - I need your help. Please... Everybody hates me... I don't know what to do! Help me, Mom... (I'm not too sure about how accurate this translation actually is - not that any of my other ones are particularly accurate... I used 'je vous en prie' here, instead of 's'il vous plâit', because, apparently, 'je vous en prie' is more akin to begging/grovelling... I don't know how reliable my source is, though, so...)

Je vous en prie, Maman... J'ai besoin de toi - Please, Mom... I need you

-----

(TAT) Told you that it was rubbish.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - it means a lot to me that you're taking the time to read through this rubbish and let me know what you think of it (:

So please, readers, review, even if it's only to tell me how bad my French is, or how much you dislike this FanFiction.

-----

Sorry, guys! FF. net screwed around with the formatting (Italics, in particular), and deleted random words and full-stops. I don't know what happened, but... Well, I think that I've fixed it. I apologise in advance for any time that this may happen again in the future.

In future chapters, if there's random sections of Italics that are clearly not thoughts/flashbacks, please just pretend that the Italics do no exist xD


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**:As much as it pains me to say this, Death Note isn't mine.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: Largely death based theme, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, mentions of rape/prostitution, eating disorders, language, self-harm, V fo Vendetta, and OOC-ness! (That's quite a list...)

**AN**: Alright.

Those of you who hate what I've done to Near thus far are really going to want to kill me after this chapter.

I think that this is a defining point in the story, and it's really quite important that I get it over and done with. That having been said, I don't like it at all.

Listen up, homies: I do not endorse any type of self-harm, whether that be cutting yourself, burning yourself, starving yourself, or anything else under _any_ circumstance. My views on the aforementioned problems/disorders do not necessarily coincide with Near's.

I am not writing this because it's how I feel; I am not a tragically depressed orphan. My parents aren't divorced, and I'm not even a single child.

Also, I'm well aware of how terribly written this is. My insomnia has been playing up again, and I wrote this whole chapter between the hours of 2am and 6am. That includes proof-reading, editing, etc. so I apologise for how little sense this is going to make.

Anyway, there's a lot of action in this chapter, and things might slow down a bit after this.

-----

Chapter Three

-----

The next few days passed in a hatred-filled, anxiety-ridden blur. Mello had taken to glaring at Near at every opportunity, and Optimus Prime was still ignoring him.

Near wondered quite frequently what he'd done to make his only friend so upset with him, before realising that it was a stupid question - he'd watched Heaven burn and walked away without so much as a tear. The fact that Near regretted it every day didn't seem to matter to Optimus, and Near wanted nothing more than to know how to make it better again.

Unfortunately, no answer presented itself, so Near tried to convince himself to get used to fact that Optimus Prime had now joined his league of anti-fans. It wasn't as easy as accepting that everyone else hated him - Optimus had always been the one constant thing that he could count on when he needed something to hold onto. Now, with his only source of comfort gone, Near didn't know what to do. He wouldn't break - he would be unhappy, certainly, but he'd lived through Heaven's fall, and the resulting _work_, so he could get through this - but it wouldn't be pleasant.

Near had been at Wammy's House for a week, now, and, on this particular day, he thought that perhaps the weather (and God) was trying to mock him: it was bright, sunny, and cloudless.

Outside, children were running around in singlets and shorts, sweating profusely as they played together, but the warmth didn't quite seem to reach Near's bed. He was shivering under his covers, and he wished despondently that Heaven was there with him, though he wasn't sure that she'd want to be there with him, anymore.

Usually, he was certain of his beliefs that she would have surrounded him with her warmth and hugged him until the coldness went away, had she been there, but now, in the icy silence and loneliness of his room, Near wasn't so sure. Optimus was ignoring him, so he'd obviously done something wrong, and he despised himself for not knowing how to make everything better again.

There was a bruise and a small laceration on Near's cheek where Mello had hit him, and he loathed the nurse for covering it with a gauze bandage; the injury site was hot, and, when Near agitated it, it filled his whole body with a paralysing, tingling sense of warmth. He could irritate it through the bandage, but it didn't feel nearly as _hot_ as when it was bare, and Near found himself pressing against the gauze almost desperately.

It was wrong, and he knew it, but he liked the sensations that radiated from the injury; it made Near feel warm and safe and _alive_ - like his existence actually meant something, rather than him breathing for the sake of having nothing else to do while he waited for God to want him.

Optimus Prime didn't approve, he could tell, because the toy's disgust was barely contained, and Near's attempts at reconciliation did nothing. He'd tried begging, ignorance, and, though it shamed him to say it, black-mail, but nothing worked. If anything, they just made Optimus even angrier at him, and Near was close to crying out of sheer hopelessness.

Near didn't know what to do. It was cold in his room, so cold that his tears would probably freeze if he even attempted to cry, and the bitter taste in his mouth really had nothing to do with the fact that he'd already vomited up every ounce of food in his stomach. What was there left to do? What could he do to make the pain and the sadness and the damned coldness go away?

There was a cold sweat glistening on Near's skin now, and he thought that, perhaps, he knew what he could do to make himself feel better. It certainly wouldn't solve any of his problems, but a temporary fix... That was okay, wasn't it?

Though it made him feel guilty (so guilty that bile rose in his throat for what might have been the hundredth time that day), Near placed his pillow at the foot of his bed, and pressed the injured side of his face hard into the mattress. He hissed quietly at the small sting, before it faded and he was left with the wonderful aching that filled him with warmth.

Finding comfort in such a perverse way; wasn't that deviant to the point where normal might have never existed? Near was used to being an abnormality, but being so strange in a way like _this_ was completely new. He'd never been so different before - he knew that none of the other children would ever even _consider_ harming themselves to feel safe (and Near had to admit that it didn't make sense, even to him).

But that still didn't stop him from scratching at the gauze until blood soaked through it, and, even then, he took it off, revelling in the burn of the adhesive being peeled off of his skin, and continued to agitate his wound.

The amount of blood that was covering his fingers and bed-sheets was astounding - it was only a small cut, really; Near had received much worse from the tricks, but he'd never bled this much before. Near could feel it coating his palms and dripping down his wrists, and he pulled his hands away to see how much of his own life he'd spilled.

The blood coated his hands and forearms like glue, but it didn't look _right_ - it was supposed to be red, but it was flecked with a horrible black and it was so hideous and filthy and vile and repulsive that the mere sight of it made Near's stomach churn, but he could _see_ now; he understood.

_This why God doesn't want me, isn't it; because I could never wash the filth off - it was in my _veins_, all along, _Near thought to himself, and his heart twitched feebly in his chest - a poor imitation of the joy that he might have once felt.

It all made sense to him, now: the reason why God didn't want him, why he wasn't good enough for Heaven - it all added up. He'd known for some time that in order for him to be worthy of Heaven again, he had to get rid of the filth; he'd scrubbed away at the grime coating his skin, but it had never worked because the impurity was in his very life.

While this newest realization did nothing to make Near feel clean - he could almost feel something crawling under his skin - it gave him a sense of grim satisfaction: finally, he knew what to do to see Heaven again.

It wouldn't be pleasant, but he'd have to keep scrubbing away at the grime coating his skin and drain the filth from his very blood, but Near felt sure that he could do it.

He had to be able to do it - he had to see Heaven again, no matter what the cost was.

-----

"Good morning, Near," Roger said politely.

Near looked up at Roger from his position on the floor and returned the greeting, before returning his attention to Optimus Prime. The toy was still ignoring him, and he was at his wit's end - he felt more than desperate to find out how to make it all better between them again.

Clearing his throat, Roger said (and Near could hear the smile in his voice), "I have a surprise for you."

Far from finding the announcement exciting, as was probably Roger's intention, Near felt vaguely nauseous. 'Surprises', to him, never meant anything good; they meant tricks, _jobs_, fire, hurting, death, and burning.

"Has anyone told you about the purpose of Wammy's House, Near?" Roger asked.

At the thought of Mello, Near's nausea grew worse. "Yes. It's to find a successor for L, right?"

Near could see Roger nodding in his peripheral vision. "That's right," the old man said, "which is why I currently have L waiting online to speak to you." Roger's smile clearly suggested that Near should be thrilled to be presented with such an opportunity.

"I see," Near replied, feeling somewhat un-thrilled. In his eyes, L was pathetic; a man who didn't even have the guts to show his face to the world meant less than nothing to Near.

"Now, usually, if you were to correspond with L, it would be via a webcam, but certain... things have happened that prevent the use of one, so you'll have to speak to him through an instant-messaging program," Roger said, before standing up and handing Near a laptop.

Near was glad that the webcam was broken: it would stop people from seeing the imperfections that he knew were lying just beneath his skin.

Roger cleared his throat again and continued, "An instant-messaging program is open at the moment, and you'll notice that I took the liberty of making you an account. Your screen-name is Nathan, and it is very important that you stick to this code. On the same note, please don't address L as 'L' - please call him 'Ryuuzaki'."

Near wondered why all these code-names and aliases were necessary. Surely using an instant-messaging program couldn't result in death.

Nevertheless, with a small nod, Near put the laptop on a chair in front of Roger's desk and sat in front of it.

Suddenly, a box popped up on the screen, and Near watched as the words 'Hello, Nathan' were typed out to him.

'Hello, Ryuuzaki,' Near replied, propping Optimus Prime up on his knee so that the toy could see, too.

'How are you?' L asked.

'I'm fine. Yourself?' Near responded, but it didn't seem right; he couldn't see L's face, and so didn't know what the man was feeling - it was like conversing with a robot.

'I am quite well.'

There was an awkward pause in the conversation, and Near started tugging at his hair to distract himself. This kind of pain wasn't very nice at all; there was no blood being spilled, and it only served the purpose of helping him to concentrate. Still, he couldn't find it within himself to complain about the almost-pleasant burning sensation in his scalp.

'I'm going to be frank, Nathan - do you know what happened to your parents?'

Near cringed as he typed out with shaking fingers, 'My mother is with God.' _I miss you so much, Maman... It's my fault you're gone... I should've stayed..._

'Your father?'

Near wondered why L wanted to know so badly; did the man know what it was doing to Near? He tugged harder on his hair and ignored the looks that Roger and Optimus Prime were sending him.

'I don't know. I don't remember ever meeting him.'

L replied, 'Do you want to know?'

It would have been impolite to take all of L's efforts and throw them back into his face, but Near couldn't care less about etiquette - he was a child who'd watched his own mother burn to death, only to be thrust into a filthy world of prostitution, money, and loneliness, and he was scared witless. He'd never known his father (in fact, he almost despised the man for leaving him to _work_), and so held no feelings for the man; he was a stranger.

Near couldn't deny his curiosity, but he was afraid of what he might find out about his family if he asked.

'I could ask you again later, Nathan, if you like.'

Taking a deep breath, Near replied, 'No, I'd like to know.' This was the one chance that he'd get to learn about his family, his life before the fire, and he needed the sense of closure that he hoped that knowledge of his old life would bring.

'Roger has every file that we could find pertaining to you and your family, Nathan. Feel free to peruse them at your leisure when this conversation is over.'

Near nodded, though he knew that L couldn't see it, and asked, 'How many files are there, do you know?'

'Enough to interest you for years to come, Nathan. Now, I would like you to open the only file on the desktop of the laptop that you're using. By the way, feel free to keep it - the laptop is yours.'

The way that L gave away a laptop computer so easily made Near stiffen with apprehension; L would expect something in return, now, and the only thing that Near had to repay the detective with was his body (though he didn't see why anyone would want it - it was disgusting and filthy and vile and contaminated).

_I don't want to _work_ again... I won't do it._

Ignoring his unease, Near did as L had instructed him to (really, following L's instructions was the least he could do) and another program popped up.

'Nathan, I'd like you to start the program now. Please don't speak to me again until you're finished.'

Near minimized the instant-messaging window and read what this newest program was telling him.

'This is a test,' it read. 'Please conduct this test in a quiet environment where you can concentrate completely.'

Near decided that Roger's office was as good as anywhere else that he was going to find, and pressed the 'continue' button.

He was presented with a list of multiple choice questions - five of them, each with ten options - and Near immediately got to work answering them.

The first set, he realized, weren't that difficult: the first question that he had to answer was 'What is the name of the American National Anthem?', with possible answers such as 'God Save the Queen' and 'All Along the Watchtower'.

The second set wasn't much harder: 'What are the three colours of the West German flag?', with 'green, brown, and orange' as an option.

However, slowly but surely, the questions did start to get harder, such that at the twelfth set, Near actually had to start thinking before he answered.

By the thirty-first set, Near was doing calculations in his head, tracing words onto the chair with his finger, and tugging at his hair to help himself think.

By the fifty-ninth set, Near had requested a piece of paper and pen from Roger, and was furiously scribbling away.

By the seventy-eighth set, Near felt as if he was out of his league completely, and asked Optimus Prime for help.

By the eighty-forth set, Near was just about ready to quit. That was until he noticed that the questions were getting easier again, and the reason why he was having so much difficulty answering them was because his tired brain was making things complicated where they needn't be.

With a small grin, Near finished all one hundred sets, and told L so in an instant-message.

'You're completely finished?' L asked.

'Yes.'

'All five hundred questions?'

Near's smile widened as he felt his heart swell with pride. 'Yes.'

'A percentage will appear in the program window shortly. Please tell me how many questions you answered correctly, Nathan.'

Near waited patiently for his results to display themselves on the screen and held Optimus Prime at arm's length.

"How do you think I went?" he asked the toy excitedly. He'd never done a test before, and he was eager to see his marks.

Optimus seemed content to crush Near's spirit and continued to ignore him, no matter how many times he asked the toy questions or hugged it.

By the time that the percentage appeared, Near was feeling rather less enthusiastic about his results than he had been previously. It wasn't Optimus' fault - Near had done something to make Optimus upset, so it had every right to do the same to Near, but it didn't make the dull aching in Near's chest any nicer.

'Ninety-seven percent.'

He'd answered four hundred and eighty-five questions correctly.

Near didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. He'd definitely been expecting something lower.

The fact that he'd exceeded his own expectations didn't give him a sense of accomplishment, because he was sure that every other child was just as smart as he was - they just didn't show it; calculating everything and being right all of the time would be irritating and monotonous.

"Is... Is that a good result, Maman?" he asked his toy quietly, hoping that his Heaven would congratulate him for his average results and stop being angry.

Optimus continued to ignore him, offering no praise or, indeed, any form of acknowledgement that Near had just spoken at all - he might as well have kept silent.

Near opened his mouth to speak again, to tell Heaven that she could at least tell him to shut up or something, when the laptop suddenly beeped.

'The percentage must have appeared by now. How many questions did you answer correctly, Nathan?' L asked impatiently. He probably thought that some unobservant people would be caught up by his phrasing - they would send him their percentage, but he hadn't asked for that: he'd asked how many questions Near had answered correctly.

'Four hundred and eighty-five,' Near replied nervously. Would L tell him that he was just as smart as everyone else, that he was nothing special, and that Wammy's had no need for him? Would L kick him out? Would he be homeless, and have to _work_ again to get by?

He didn't want to _work_ again; if he started _working _now, he'd never get the filth off, and he needed to scrub himself clean, to let the filth spew from his veins, so that he could move on and see Heaven again.

The ache near Near's heart slowly started to feel like a vice, squeezing his chest until he couldn't breathe properly, and he dropped Optimus in favour of clawing at his throat. He was gasping for breath and he was starting to go light-headed - he couldn't start working again, he'd promised that he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wasn't going to, he didn't _want_ to, it was so unfair! - and his fingernails were drawing blood and Optimus was staring at him from the floor and the laptop was beeping again and everything was so _loud_ and _bright_ and it burned Near like the flame that had burned his mother as she screamed and screamed and screamed-

'That's very impressive, Nathan.'

Near's hands fell to his sides as he stared at the laptop, shocked. _I-It's 'impressive'? Not just 'okay'? Better than 'average'? It's '_impressive_'? _His chest was still heaving, and he felt light-headed, but he could breathe now, at least. _Th-They're not going to kick me out? N-No more _working_?_

'That's very close to the record - you only missed it by four questions. I set that record myself, and I must say that I'm pleasantly surprised, Nathan.'

What could Near possibly say to accept praise like that from the greatest detective that world had ever known?

Certainly not 'goodbye'.

Unfortunately, Near's mind was buzzing strangely and he didn't think before typing out his reply, which just so happened to be 'good bye'.

'Yes, I imagine that you must be anxious to read through your family's files. Good bye, Nathan.'

Near logged out of the instant messaging program and sat perfectly still, bar the heaving of his shoulders and the small shudders that ran through his form, as he listened to Roger arranging papers.

His results were '_impressive_' - what did that mean? 'Impressive' was ambiguous, and Near didn't know whether or not it was a good thing.

There were more important issues at hand, though, such as the fact that Optimus Prime still hadn't given Near any indication as to whether Near had done well or not in its opinion, and that was all that Near wanted. He couldn't care less about what some gutless detective said, but if Heaven said that it wasn't good enough, then it wasn't good enough, and she seemed to be indicating that in her ignorance of him.

Near lowered his gaze and chewed on his lip, rubbing his chest lightly in a vain attempt to make the ache go away, as he whispered, "M-Maman... Maman, a-are you proud of me?"

When Optimus ignored him still, Near didn't know if it was the pain in his chest that brought tears to his eyes, or his mother's blatant disapproval.

"Near," Roger said, snapping Near out of his newest depression. "Would you like to see the files now?"

It took Near a moment or two to figure out which files Roger was talking about. "Yes," he said once he'd remembered why he was there. He was anxious to learn about his father, his heritage, his life.

Roger nodded and pulled a stack of papers out of his desk. "Here they are," he said as he handed them to Near.

Near took the papers, picked up Optimus, and left with a small 'thankyou, Roger', his hands shaking with anticipation. What would he find out? What kind of person was his father - what kind of person did that make _him_? Was his father something important, like a doctor, or a _fireman_? Or was he something different, like a shop-keeper, or a soccer coach? What kinds of things did he enjoy? Did he like sport, or was he more of an artistic type?

Near found it hard to think with so many questions buzzing around in his head, and, with a small, nervous grin on his face, reached his room and sat on his bed. What if he found out something horrible; what if his Papa was a thief or a murderer?

With a quiet laugh, Near shook his head. His father couldn't be that bad - Heaven had deemed the man good enough to marry and bore his child, so he had to be almost as perfect as her.

Heart-beat pounding in his ears, Near started reading the first file.

'Name: Nathan John River,' it read, and Near already felt closer to his father than ever - he'd been named after his Papa. 'DOB: 5/10/67  
POB: St. Mary's Hospital, Portsmouth.'

Near didn't know much about English geography, but he was quite certain that Portsmouth wasn't too far away. Maybe, if Roger would allow it, he could visit St. Mary's Hospital, and see where his father had been born.

'Current Place of Residence: Gaol - guilty of rape, arson, homicide, and attempted homicide.'

Near's heart thudded painfully against his ribcage as he read over the line again and again, just to make sure that what he was seeing was real. He swallowed in a vain attempt to wet his suddenly dry mouth, and hugged Optimus Prime for dear life. It couldn't be true - his Papa couldn't have- it wasn't _possible_ for him to have- why would he set Heaven ablaze, anyway? He'd have to be stupid to do that, and Near was smart, so maybe his father was smart too, and smart people didn't do stupid things like burning the mothers of their children.

With a firm nod - a desperate attempt to confirm to himself that the person that he was very much a part of couldn't have murdered Heaven in cold blood - Near flicked through the papers and selected a random page, and began to read again.

'...though there is no conclusive evidence, the evidence available suggests beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of at least one count of rape, one count of arson, one count of homicide, and one count of attempted homicide. Obviously, in the event that the defendant is found guilty, it will be difficult to find any sort of compensation for the plaintiff's family, but...'

Near would have kept reading his father's lawyer's statement, but his eyes were clouding and the words looked like black, shapeless splodges on the page, and his heart was close to breaking through his ribs, and his head hurt, because it wasn't true, and L had done all this research for nothing, because Near's father _couldn't_ have done any of that to his Maman, _it wasn't true_-

Choking back a- a _something_ (he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream or some strange mixture of the two), Near threw the papers away from him and curled in on himself on the bed, until Optimus Prime was pressed uncomfortably against his thighs and stomach.

The toy's cold, hard, plastic arms that were digging into his skin so awkwardly could have been Heaven's warm, soft, flesh if it weren't for Near's own Pa- _father_ (because the man was _not_ his Papa; he was Near's biological father, and that was all) and it was Near's own fault; his Maman had cried at night, when she thought that he couldn't hear her, and it was because of him. He wasn't supposed to be alive - the fire was meant for him: he was a mistake.

_It's my fault._

Near let out a quiet sob, before a cold, numb emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach and he felt ashamed of being so pathetic. Crying was weak, and he thought that he'd gotten all of the weaknesses out of his system in church a week ago, but they kept coming back and getting stronger and bigger. He didn't think that he could control them anymore, which made him even more pathetic, and there wasn't anything that he could do about it; every time he so much as tried, he just ended up feeling worse.

His father had killed his mother, had tried to kill him: the man who had forced him into existence had tried to _kill_ him and had succeeded in killing his Heaven.

_It's all my fault._

Optimus Prime wasn't being sympathetic at all: the toy was still ignoring him completely, and Near let out a choked scream before clutching at his head frantically.

"H-He killed her..." he stuttered incoherently, desperately trying to believe that the lawyers and everyone else were lying, because his father _couldn't_ have murdered his mother. "He k-killed you, Maman..." The files fell the ground as he curled into a tighter ball and cried, "He _k-killed_ you and h-he- he _r-raped_ you, a-and it's a-all my fault! I-I'm so sorry, M-Maman... I-It's all my f-fault, and I-I-" Near couldn't speak anymore; he couldn't even breathe, and he sobbed into his knees for the second time in two weeks.

After a few moments of panic, he raised his head to try to find some reassurance from Optimus Prime - his Maman would provide him with a recollection of the events, right? His father couldn't be a murderer - but his eyes were drawn to the small photograph on the floor.

_No... N-No... _Near picked up the photograph and stared. It was like seeing himself, but with deliberate flaws - his father's hair was blonde and he had blue eyes, rather than Near's white and grey, and the man wore glasses, but the resemblances were obvious. They had the same nose, the same mouth, the same cheekbones... _No!_

Near threw the photograph away from himself with disgust and ran his hands over his face. He didn't _want_ to look like that- that- that _scumbag_! This man was as bad as the tricks, if not worse, and Near wanted nothing to do with him.

He glared at the photograph that was staring back up at him from the carpet, and muttered scathingly, hiccupping occasionally, "You t-touched my mother, you s-scum."

Nathan had degraded her in the worst way possible; it was this salaud's fault that she was gone, and Near seriously doubted that he could ever forgive him.

The photograph - Nathan John River, his father, the man that he bore such a resemblance to, the man who had created him with his Maman - did not reply.

"Y-You _killed_ her," Near said again, and he found that the more that he repeated it, the less he felt. The anger and hatred and sadness and sense of betrayal that all blocked his throat and made his eyes sting were draining away, and the cold numbness that had settled in his stomach before was now setting in completely.

Once again, Nathan John River said nothing, and Near clung to his last shred of sanity as he lunged toward the photograph and tore it to shreds.

"I fucking _hate_ you! You k-killed Heaven, you piece of shit, and I'll... I-I'll... I'll k-kill you!" he screamed as he threw the shreds of paper in the general direction of the bin. The curses felt foreign, almost heavy on his tongue: he'd never cussed before, because his Maman had never liked swears - she'd probably be scolding him harshly, had she been alive; but he didn't know what he was saying, and he didn't care.

He felt out of place, as if he had no business being here any more, and expressing his feelings as anger and hatred was the only thing that he could do, even in the feelings were directed at himself more than anyone else.

_I-I... I made her life Hell..._

With a churning in his gut, Near glared fiercely at the remnants of the photograph and hugged Optimus Prime close. He didn't care if his Maman hated him now; for once in his life, he couldn't care less what she thought. All that he wanted to do, right now, was avenge his mother and get rid of any similarities between himself and one Nathan John River.

-----

Near was back in Roger's office, having told the man that he'd like to meet his father.

He could have laughed.

'Meet'? Well, if 'meeting' constituted killing someone in the most brutal way possible, then yes, he wanted to meet his father.

The horrible cold, numb feeling had nearly consumed him completely - it was more a matter of territory and possession, now, than any form of rage. His Maman was _his_, and what right did some fils de pute who'd hurt her over and over again have to take her away from him?

Roger smiled, obviously under the impression that Near was a lost and lonely child who wanted to understand where he'd come from (that child was dead now; it had died the moment that Near had vowed to kill his father), and said, "We can organise a limo today, if you'd like."

"A car will do just fine, thank you." Near smirked inwardly. He'd never thought that he could meet his father _today_ - he'd been fine with meeting the scumbag in a week or two, maybe even in a few months - so to say that he was pleased now would be a large understatement. He was practically ecstatic.

Roger positively beamed as he replied, "Very well then. You can wait out in the entrance hall, if you like. A car should be ready in an hour or so."

Near couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as he said, "Thank you very much, Roger."

As Roger ushered him out of the room, Near clutched Optimus Prime to his chest and grinned to himself. He didn't know how he was going to do it, and he found himself not caring; he was going to kill the man who had dared to take Heaven away from him.

He walked to the entrance hall at an unhurried pace and wondered about how he should take his father's life. It had to be painful, because burning to death was excruciating and slow (and being touched against your will was horrible - Near could attest to that), so using a weapon was almost entirely out of the question, which was okay, because Near didn't think that he could bring a knife into a prison, anyway. This left him in quite a predicament, as he seriously doubted that he could kill someone with his bare hands, no matter how worthless the person in question was.

Near looked down at Optimus and asked, "What do you think?"

Optimus simply frowned and refused to meet his gaze, and Near wondered why Heaven didn't want to be avenged.

"He killed you," Near said, expecting Optimus to understand that he couldn't just let this go unpunished. "I... I miss you... and it's his fault. Well, to be fair, I guess that it's my fault too, but... he's the one who lit the fire, not me. Do you understand that? I need to... I need to get back at him." Near felt that perhaps he was being too insensitive, because Optimus gave him a disgusted look. "Je t'aime, Maman..." Near mumbled, suddenly ashamed of how irrational and immature he was being, "and that's why I need to do this."

Optimus refused to even look at him again, and he eventually gave up on trying to coax the toy into responding to him.

As Near walked into the entrance hall, Mello and a red-haired boy walked inside. They appeared to be having an argument about something.

"That's just stupid," Mello said. "It kills your brain-cells."

The other boy shrugged and fiddled with his orange goggles. "Well... Chocolate isn't all that good for you, either," he replied, and Near wondered what, exactly, they were talking about.

"Hey, at least chocolate doesn't-" Mello suddenly looked up and saw Near, falling silent.

Near smiled pleasantly at his roommate, and wasn't all that surprised when Mello glared at him in response. Mello hated him, and he couldn't say that he blamed the blonde. Near was disgusting and filthy and vile and worthless and didn't belong here - who wouldn't hate him?

Mello's companion looked at both of them before asking, "Who's Santa over there?"

Mello muttered something that Near didn't quite catch, and his friend's expression darkened, before they both left the room with dirty looks in Near's direction.

With a quiet sigh, Near tugged harshly at his hair as he said to Optimus, "This is why I need to do this... If you were here, then I wouldn't be alone. They all hate me, and... I just want one person to look at me like I'm not a piece of dirt who's just crawled out of a gutter."

The toy still had no reply for him, so he let out another resigned sigh, before sitting down on the floor in his usual position.

"You know..." Near continued pointlessly - it was obvious, by now, that Optimus would not respond, "I... I used to wish that I'd known my father, but... now I'm glad that I didn't," he confessed. "I probably would've... I don't know, but I wouldn't have been able to... I just... I miss you so much, and if I'd known earlier that my own father... He..." He helplessly started pulling harder at his hair and jumped when someone laid their hand on his shoulder.

"You're Near, right?"

Near turned around slowly, feeling the uncomfortable weight of this stranger's hand move to his upper-arm, and answered, "No, I'm Santa."

As Near turned around fully, he noticed that the person who was talking to him now was the boy who had been talking to Mello not two minutes ago, and he wondered why in the world this boy was talking to him - the boy had made it clear that he hated Near just as much as Mello did when he had glared at Near a few minutes ago.

The boy laughed sheepishly and replied, "Okay, so the Santa comment was below the belt, but you have white hair and... Anyway, I don't know what you did to Mello, but it upset him. I don't mean that you made him cry or anything, but he got pretty pissed. Beat up some kid, I think..."

Near blinked and tilted his head to the side as he regarded this boy. He had to be at least a year older than Near, but he spoke to Near as if he was scolding a three year old who'd stolen from the cookie jar, and Near didn't know whether this boy was trying to be condescending or kind.

Near found it insulting, either way.

The boy sighed and said, "Look, I don't want to start a fight, but you should apologise to him or something..."

"I haven't done anything that I should be sorry for," Near said, and the boy stared at him as if he'd just sprouted another head, "and it's rude to ask for my name but not give me yours in return."

"It's Matt, and you should apologise anyway," the boy replied, and Near wondered why he was being so defensive of Mello. Was it possible that they...? No, that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

Near suddenly dreaded returning to his room to sleep that night - if Mello was _like that_, then would he ask a favour of Near? Near wouldn't _work_; he refused to, not when he'd come so far, and it was plain unfair for that to be asked of him now.

Matt removed his hand from Near's arm in favour of running it through his own hair. "So you're not very talkative. Fair enough. Look, all I'm saying is that you pissed Mello off, and you're going to get the crap beaten out of you if you don't make it better, okay?"

Near reached up to touch the new gauze that he'd put on the wound on his face to protect it from infection, running his hand lightly over the most sensitive part of the injury; he shuddered and wondered if it was healthy to not care about Matt's point.

Nevertheless, he nodded and lied, "I'll... think about it."

With a small smile, Matt turned around and walked away, deserting Near in the large hall, his footsteps echoing loudly.

For a few minutes, Near sat alone in silence, transforming Optimus into a truck and back again to pass the time. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do about his father, and any and all solutions evaded him.

By the time that Roger entered the hall and said, "The car is waiting outside, Near," Near still hadn't figured out what to do; in fact, he was seriously considering giving up completely.

Optimus Prime's frown seemed to lessen slightly in severity at that thought, and Near wondered, for a second time, why she didn't want him to take vengeance. Was it possible that she-

The tapping of Roger's cane against the cold floor brought Near back to the then and there, and he quickly got up and followed Roger outside, where they walked down the gravel driveway together, toward the shiny, black car waiting just beyond the gates.

"Now, Near..." Roger began, his hand settling on Near's head, and Near clenched his fist in an attempt to ignore his discomfort. "The driver has everything you need - money, phones, voice recorders, cameras... Anything you need. All you have to do is ask."

Near was sorely tempted to ask, 'Does he have a gun, too?', but decided against it - Roger probably wouldn't take well to a small, albino orphan creating a major security threat in a gaol.

He settled for nodding, and quickly stepped into the car so that he didn't have to feel Roger's old, wrinkled hands on him any more. Almost immediately, the car started moving (what was it with the drivers here? Were they all so impatient?), and Near tried to curl into his comfortable crouch on the seat. His socks kept slipping on the leather upholstery, and he eventually shifted around so that his back was to the door, the seat-belt dug into his throat and chest (very probably leaving hard-to-explain marks behind), and Optimus sat comfortably in his lap.

"So... You're Near?" asked the driver suddenly, the intercom crackling, and Near didn't know why the man was attempting small talk.

"Yes," Near replied, regardless of the fact that he really didn't want to talk - he was starting to feel nauseous, and he didn't know if it was because he was going to a gaol, because he was about to meet his father, because he was about to meet a rapist, murderer, and arsonist (the man who had taken Heaven away from him), because he was a _mistake_, or because he wasn't used to travelling in motor vehicles.

Much to Near's dismay, the driver continued, "So you're new to Wammy's, huh?"

"Yes," Near repeated, and he hoped that the driver sensed his annoyance.

Optimus Prime, who had been beginning to look close to forgiving Near (even though he didn't deserve it), gave Near a reproachful look; Near realised his mistake instantly. He wasn't being tolerant enough of other people: his own discomfort had nothing to do with it.

Now that he knew what he'd done wrong, he could finally fix it, and everything could go back to normal - his Maman would be content with him (but how could she really be at ease with seeing the face of her tormentor day in and day out?), and he would be happy that he had just that little part of her left with him.

Near smiled as he said, "How long have you been a driver for Wammy's for?"

Optimus' glare faltered, and Near's smile widened. He was obviously doing this right.

"Umm... Around three years, now... You been in any orphanages before this one?"

"Yes... I'm not sure where it was, exactly, because my family drove me from Kent to the orphanage and it was night time, but it's an hour or two's drive from here," Near responded. He wasn't sure why he was being so open with this complete stranger, but it felt good to talk to someone (someone who could talk back, anyway). "Do you know anyone in the House?"

The driver hummed quietly for a few moments. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked finally, and Near quickly nodded. He didn't think that the driver could see him, but the man continued, "One of the kids in the House... He's my second cousin. I haven't seen him since he was a baby; that's when Ma- my cousin died."

Near chewed on his lip lightly. He didn't quite know what to say or how to feel: was he supposed to be sympathetic? He didn't know this man, and chances were that he didn't know the man's second cousin, either; he couldn't find it within himself to feel affected.

"I'm ah... sorry... for your loss..." Near stated blankly, repeating what people had been saying constantly to him ever since he'd moved to England.

Optimus Prime was starting to look slightly incredulous, and Near thought that he shouldn't push it too far - he had been relatively sincere thus far, but if he went too much further, then he'd be blatantly lying.

The driver snorted quietly, before laughing humourlessly, and Near winced at the sound. The man's voice was hoarse and harsh - much like that of most of the tricks - and he pressed himself as close to the door (as far away from the driver) as possible.

_No, no, he can't... He's not allowed to... I don't want to!_

As the car slowed to a stop, Near held Optimus up in front of him - a desperate attempt to shield himself from what was coming - and hugged both of his knees to his chest. He would fight the driver as well as he could - which, admittedly, wasn't all that well; he didn't want to do this, not again.

"I know you don't really care, kid," the driver said, once his laughter died down, and Near cringed in anticipation of what the man would say next. "It's good that you're trying to be polite, though..."

Near's arms tensed even more, his eyes widening. Why hadn't the driver insulted him yet? Why was this man still in the front-seat of the car, not in the back, with Near?

_I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't do this, not again, I can't-_

When the car started moving again, Near could hardly dare to believe that the temporary halt had been because of a red light.

"You alright back there?" the driver asked, and Near realised that he wasn't breathing.

He took in a great, shuddering breath, and stuttered, "W-Who is your s-second cousin? What's his n-name?" He wanted to upset this man; he'd made Near so uncomfortable and upset and scared - what right did he have to do that?

"He's probably a few years older than you... Abel's his name."

Near released a high, breathy, and slightly hysterical breath. "'A-Abel'? I know him... Well, I've met him, anyway. Do you want me to pass on a message?" he offered, though his heart wasn't in it. He needed to make this man _hurt_.

"No, thanks..." the driver said. "I'm just... worried about him. Does he seem kind of... _down_ to you?"

Near tried hard not to smirk as he replied, "Well... Yes, a bit..."

He knew where to hit this man, now: Near knew how to hurt him.

"Shit," the driver swore, and Near could hear the panic in his voice. His heart twinged feebly, and he wondered if this was really the best choice of action.

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence, and Near didn't know whether to be satisfied or worried.

When they reached the gaol, the driver, a tall, thin man, wearing a thick trench-coat, opened Near's door, and they walked one hundred metres to the automatic doors marking the entrance to the only building in sight.

They entered the building, and Near felt that such a clean and normal environment was unbefitting for a gaol: wasn't there supposed to be barbed wire lining the perimeter, and snipers ready to shoot on site?

They walked over to a large desk, where a young woman sat, talking into the microphone on her ear-piece.

"Good morning," she greeted them, her straight, white teeth gleaming in the bright lights above her head. "How may I help you?"

The driver didn't look surprised by her address; he pulled an envelope out of his coat and said, "You'll find all the information you need in there."

She took one look at the envelope before standing up, her lips stretched tight across her teeth. "Well then," she said brightly, "let's get going, shall we?"

Near didn't like her for several reasons: when she saw him, her smile took on a slightly condescending tone, and when she saw Optimus Prime, held firmly to his chest, she looked downright patronising.

On top of that were the facts that she had a fake tan (her skin looked orange, and Near was tempted to laugh), her hair was limp and dull from peroxide, she wore make-up that was at least an inch thick, the top three buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing far more skin than Near wanted to see (girls were gross), and whatever she was wearing around her waist probably didn't even constitute a skirt.

"I'm Cat," she said as they walked through white, sterile halls. "What's your name?"

Near understood her to be speaking to him - her voice was high, and she spoke slowly, as if he was stupid.

If she wanted a stupid child, then a stupid child she would get.

"I'm Santa," Near replied, and watched, satisfied, as her horrible smile faded slightly.

"Well..." Cat said. "That's... interesting. Do you like Transformers?"

Near rolled his eyes and looked up at the driver for help. The man shook his head slightly, and Near sighed as he replied, "No, I'm only carrying an Optimus Prime figurine around for the added convenience."

Cat didn't realise that she was being mocked: she asked, as though this topic interested her, "Really?"

Optimus Prime was starting to get sick of her as well; Near could tell by the toy's slightly narrowed eyes.

"Nope," Near answered. "I lied."

"I used to have a Megatron toy-" Near cringed - Heaven was much more than a toy, "-when I was younger. I used to carry it around everywhere, too."

"That's wonderful," Near said, and, unsurprisingly, Cat made no further attempts to start a conversation.

They passed row after row of cells, some empty, some inhabited, and Near wondered how deep into the gaol Nathan's cell was.

As the minutes went by, Near was beginning to doubt his decision to visit Nathan. What was he trying to achieve? What _could_ he achieve? Nathan was a rapist, an arsonist, and a murderer - he'd raped Heaven, burned her, and killed her, and Near could do nothing to bring her back.

This wasn't about closure any more - had it ever been? - and Near wondered if it was some strange form of masochism that kept him walking.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they reached a room with a large, white, and very intimidating door, and Near started to feel nauseous.

"Go on in," Cat said, as if Near had never seen a door before. "There's a two-way mirror, so we can see what's going on. Don't worry: he can't hurt you." With a pat on Near's shoulder that was probably supposed to be reassuring, she and the driver left for a different room, and Near stared at the door.

Could he really do this? Could he speak to the man who had ruined everything? Could he even look at this scum without vomiting?

Near reached up a shaking hand and opened the door.

Nathan set his steely gaze on his son, and they both stood there, still and silent, for what could have been years.

"Bonjour, Papa," Near finally said, and Nathan smiled, his teeth yellowed and crooked; Near held Optimus closer.

"Hello, son. How've you been?"

-----

Salaut - Bastard

Fils de pute - Son of a bitch

-----

**AN**: Oh, God.

I am _so_ sorry for not updating in so long...

I have several thousand excuses, the most important of which being:

My work hours are screwed completely. One of my colleagues just _decided_ that he didn't want to work Saturdays, so I now have his hours.

Recently, it was assessment time at school, so I had assignments and/or exams for _every single frikin' subject_. I had an oral presentation, an exam, and an assignment to do for Legal Studies, all in _one week_, if that gives you any idea of how hectic my schedule was.

I still haven't recovered from the epic illness that attacked me earlier this year - I'm sure that the many diseases that I have are breeding with each other and creating new, ultimate illnesses as I type this.

On top of the epic mega illness, my throat infection is playing up, and I haven't been able to get out of bed some days.

I haven't been home much, so that means no laptop - I've had gigs coming out of my ears, stupid work hours, rehearsals for about fifty different things, parties, and a whole load of other things. Mendokuse.

Life at home hasn't been too great, and then there's that whole 'I have a girlfriend; does that make me gay?' thing.

Ummm...

I think that that may be it.

Needless to say, I am trying to juggle everything and leave time for writing, but it's not working out too well ^^;


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**:If I owned Death Note, would I be writing _Fan_Fiction?

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: Largely death based theme, very bad French, very skewed opinions on what Heaven is, mentions of rape/prostitution, eating disorders, language, self-harm, V fo Vendetta, and OOC-ness! (That's quite a list...)

**AN**: Does anyone else find the term 'police brutality' hilarious, or is it just me?

On a completely unrelated note, I have realised that the Repo! The Genetic Opera soundtrack is the awesome-est thing on planet Earth. If you have not heard Zydrate Anatomy, you have not lived.

_And Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife..._

_Addicted to the knife?_

_Addicted to the knife._

_And addicted to the knife, she needs a little help with the agony..._

^^;; Can you tell that I love it?

Okay, so the ending to this chapter is abrupt. It's because I figured that I should upload something, rather than just having this half-finished mess sitting on my hard-drive, doing nothing.

Also, please don't complain about the extreme shitty-ness of this chapter. Real Life has actually started to become interesting, and most of my time has been occupied by me just thinking about it. In addition to this, I have just started eleventh grade. I have to admit that it is rather easy, but it also requires six hours of my time each day (apart from weekends, which are usually spent working or trying-and-failing to sleep).

Anyway, I have a million and one excuses, none of which are really relevant, at this stage, so on with the chapter!

-----

Chapter Four

-----

If Near's Maman was Heaven, then his Papa was, most definitely, Hell.

Nathan's sallow skin was stretched tight across his prominent bones; his hair was thin and his hairline was receding, and Near didn't like to think of how similar they'd look once Nathan's hair turned grey; his eyes were bright and watery, locked on Near's own; his long, thin fingers stopped tapping against the table in his surprise.

And so they continued to stare at each other, their eyes piercing and evaluating, until Near couldn't stand the silence any more - his heart was thudding almost violently against his ribcage, and his stomach was cramping painfully: he needed to say something.

"You look..." Near cringed. "You look... old."

Near's heart-rate accelerated dramatically, and he felt like kicking himself. _What am I _saying_?!_

Nathan's smile widened - Optimus Prime's arms was close to breaking off under the pressure that Near was exerting on it - as he replied, "Funny: I'd say the same thing to you. I haven't seen you since you were about two."

Near didn't remember ever meeting this man, and his memory was perfect - why was Nathan lying to him? What would it achieve?

His eyes narrowed and he spat, "Bullshit."

Nathan's eyebrows shot up, before he slumped against the table and laughed. It was an awful sound - rattling and cold and harsh and cruel - and it echoed when he said, "Are you kidding me? You've gotta be what... six? Seven?"

"I'm seven," Near stated coldly, "though it's really none of your business."

His confidence was a lie, a clever facade to hide behind: he was terrified. This man had done despicable things to Heaven; Near couldn't feel any semblance of safe around him.

"Awww..." Nathan mocked. "Not even an 'I love you, Daddy'? I'm disappointed. I imagined our meeting going a bit differently..."

With a quiet snort, Near sat down in his chair and said, "You're not my 'Daddy'. You're my biological father, and that's as far as it goes. I want nothing to do with you."

So why was he even here? Now that Near was presented with the reality of his father, he wanted to leave. His nausea was growing worse and he feared that he was going to be sick soon; there was no food left in his stomach, but he could feel bile swirling around unpleasantly.

"So," Nathan said, "is there actually any reason for this lovely visit?"

Near blinked languidly as he concocted his next lie. He couldn't be honest, because that would present Nathan with far too many weaknesses to use to his advantage. He couldn't say that it was because he wanted to meet his father, because they both knew that it was a lie.

"I wanted to see it for myself," Near lied coolly.

Nathan sat down as well and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head. "See what?"

"If it was possible for someone to be as truly pathetic as your profile said."

Far from appearing offended, as Near had hoped, Nathan grinned and replied, "I'm pathetic, am I?"

Near forced himself not to turn around and leave the room - Nathan looked possessive, almost predatory; like a trick - as he answered, "Very."

Nathan leaned across the table, his hot, stale breath on Near's face. Near wanted to turn away; he wanted to do anything to get away from his father, but he couldn't, because that would have been admitting defeat.

"You want to know who's _really_ pathetic?" Nathan asked, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Near pretended not to care about Nathan's warm, pungent breath on his face, and replied, "Please, do enlighten me, dear father of mine," fighting the urge to vomit. Nathan's breath was making him sick: it was hot and sweet; his skin burned, almost as if his father's breath was making it blister and searing him to the bone.

"You," Nathan stated as he caressed Near's ear with his nose; Near flinched away slightly, and hated himself for it: Nathan was laughing a moment later.

It was true, and Near didn't know what Nathan was trying to achieve by saying it; the tricks had always told him that he was useless, a waste, that he was worthless and pathetic, and he knew it to be a fact. Why else would he have left his Maman to burn?

It seemed that Nathan was not finished - he leaned in even closer, his lips pressed against Near's ear as he whispered so quietly that the cameras surely could not pick it up, "I raped her, you know - your mother... and the whore enjoyed it."

Near clenched his fists and stroked Optimus Prime's arm lightly, his blood boiling. What right did this scum have to talk about Heaven? He had defaced her in the worst possible way, so why was he icing the proverbial cake now?

"Come now, Nate... Don't act like that... She was a filthy slut... She begged me for it..."

Clenching his jaw until his teeth were pressed together so tightly that his jaw ached, Near tried to ignore Nathan's words. Heaven was beautiful and pure and wouldn't ever beg to be defiled; his father was lying in an attempt to hurt him. Near would not let himself be manipulated by a pathetic old man.

Nathan chuckled quietly and continued, "She wanted an abortion..."

Near's stomach dropped, his eyes widening. _No... No, it's not true... _No_!_

"What's this, then?" Nathan jeered, wheezing slightly. "She never told you?" He laughed loudly in Near's ear, and Near felt his throat tighten as he bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything stupid.

Near stood up abruptly, his stomach clenching - he feared, for a moment, that he would be sick, and dry-retched onto the floor behind him; his head was spinning and his hands shook so badly that Optimus Prime almost fell to the floor completely.

"No," Near muttered, though he knew that he was only playing into Nathan's hands. "Shut up!"

Nathan didn't move: he was still leaning over the table, smirking smugly as he murmured with faux affection, "Did she tell you she loved you, Nate? Is that it?" Nathan's smirk widened, and Near heaved again. "Come here, son. I want to tell you something."

Legs shaking, Near stepped closer to Nathan; close enough to hear the taunting whisper of, "She hated you...". He swung his arm back and slammed his fist into Nathan's face, hardly aware of what he was doing. One of his knuckles cracked painfully and there was a loud clattering noise as Optimus Prime hit the ground; Near wound his fingers in Nathan's hair and punched the man again.

"_Shut up_!" he shouted, his voice breaking. It wasn't true: his mother had loved him just as much as he loved her - she had tucked him into bed, kissed him goodnight, brought him toys, and hugged him when he'd had nightmares. She had loved him.

Nathan continued to smirk, and Near realised that Nathan wasn't hitting him back only because of the handcuffs that shackled his hands to the table.

"You ruined her life," Nathan said softly; his nose broke, in the next moment, the cartilage shattering under Near's fist with a satisfying 'crunch'.

"No!" Near clutched at his face, his fingernails digging into his cheeks - they were so like Nathan's, just like his mouth, jaw-line, and nose; he wanted to scratch away at them until there was nothing left of him that was at all similar to Nathan.

With a quiet, wet cough, Nathan said, "I'm not the one that killed her, Nate."

_No, I didn't... She... _He_ killed her! _Near thought frantically, looking at anything other than Nathan. He didn't want to see the waste of a man who dared to call him 'son'; he didn't want to let Nathan's words hurt him.

His breath came in short gasps, but the oxygen didn't reach his lungs; he was starting to feel numb, almost like when he'd agitated his wound that morning, and tried to redirect his hatred and disgust away from himself.

_It's not my fault. I didn't kill Maman. Nathan did._ Near repeated those three sentences to himself over and over, as if hoping to force himself to believe them, and started tugging harshly at his hair. He hadn't killed her. It wasn't his fault.

Near finally looked up from the ground at Nathan, who was smiling at him bemusedly, as if unaware of the blood that coated half of his face, and Near felt a surge of absolute hatred. Everything that he'd felt until this moment - all of the hurt and longing and pain - seemed insignificant; he had never felt something so consuming before, and reacted out of instinct: he punched Nathan again, and let out a quiet 'ha' when the man groaned with pain.

"S-See?" Nathan slurred, spitting out blood onto the floor. "You kn-know it, too."

"No!" Near exclaimed, finally giving up on raising his fists to Nathan and settling for simply wrapping his throbbing hands around the man's throat. Near wanted to break everything about the scum who felt no remorse for ruining his life; he wanted to destroy Nathan completely; he wanted to remove every trace of evidence that proved that Nathan had ever lived at all.

Far from seeming terrified or even mildly irritated, as Near had hoped, Nathan choked out a laugh; his self-satisfied smirk did not fade, and Near tightened his grip on his father's throat.

Nathan gasped for breath as he forced out a stilted, "P-Pathetic."

"Fuck you!" Near snarled, digging his nails into the soft skin of Nathan's neck.

Nathan's face was starting to turn blue and his eyes bulged unattractively; he looked deranged and inhuman, and Near couldn't quite believe that this man had had anything to do with his creation.

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the handcuffs chaining Nathan down to the table: Near jumped as Nathan's hands wound themselves in his shirt and tugged him down to Nathan's level so that the man could whisper smugly, spittle flying onto Near's face, "Th-That... an o-offer?"

Near wrenched himself from Nathan's grip and resisted the urge to leap away from the man completely; the feeling of Nathan's dry, calloused hands brushing against his skin was disgusting, and made him feel filthy and vile.

"You're... ju-just as bad... as your... mother," Nathan managed to gasp, drawing in quick, shallow breaths between words. "Y-You... disgust me... you _whore_..."

Near felt the insult on his cheek distinctly, as if he'd been slapped; a blotchy red covered his cheeks as it would have had Nathan raised a hand to him. He felt disgusted and sick; more so by the fact that he believed Nathan than that his hold on Nathan's throat was loosening.

Nathan's smug smirk remained, and Near knew that he had just failed something crucial; as if to add insult to injury, Nathan shook his hair out of his face and rasped calmly, his voice hoarse, "You couldn't even..." he paused to take a great, shuddering breath, bruises already forming on his neck. "You couldn't even kill me, even after you know what I did to your slut of a mother. You're pathetic."

Near took a step backward and slipped on Optimus Prime. His head hit the ground with a dull '_thunk_' and pain erupted in the back of his head. His vision swam for a moment, and he barely managed to roll over onto all-fours before he vomited onto the floor, his stomach clenching and his throat burning.

"Pathetic," Nathan muttered again, and Near choked on his own bile; he clutched at one of the table's legs so that he didn't fall when his trembling limbs threatened to give out.

The loud ringing in his ears hurt his head and he felt himself slip out of consciousness, for a moment; his vision faded to black as he swayed dangerously, and he woke up on the ground, his lip stinging and blood filling his mouth. He gingerly reached up, feeling horrified and nauseous and angry and disgusted and upset and scared, and his fingers met something sticky and warm.

Suddenly, there was the sound of rubber squeaking against the cold, linoleum floor, and Near looked up to find the driver and Cat standing in front of him. Cat gave him a barely concealed look of disgust, and the driver merely stood silently and observed; Near felt shame burn his cheeks and quickly wiped his bleeding mouth on the back of his sleeve, standing up shakily as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Near's knees shook and he held onto the edge of the tables until his knuckles turned white as a wave of nausea almost forced him to fall back to the floor. Nathan smiled smugly at him and he wanted to turn away; he wanted to turn on his heel and leave, but he found himself held in place by a sick sense of fascination.

"Hello," Nathan said not unkindly, and Near's stomach lurched again. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Nathan. Who the hell are you?"

The driver did not reply; he took Near's arm and led him out with a quiet, "Come on, Near."

Cat may have stayed there and said something to Nathan - Near did not know - but, as soon as the door closed behind them, Nathan called obscenities after them, and Near tried to block them out.

He succeeded in this ploy, until Nathan shouted, "Come back here, you little shit! Come back here and finish what you started!" Something suddenly cut of the rest of it, and Near clutched weakly at the driver's arm; he couldn't have handled much more.

The driver seemed to have realised: he handed Near Optimus Prime - whom Near, to his shame, had completely forgotten about - and murmured, "Don't listen to him. What he said isn't true."

Near tried hard to believe the man, but he couldn't find it within himself to be deceived by a few kind words: his mother hadn't gotten an abortion because she did not believe in such a thing; she was against wasting life, no matter how worthless it was.

Instead of replying, he hugged Optimus Prime and tried hard to ignore the aching in his hands. He understood, now, why he hadn't gotten into a fist fight before: the dull throbbing in his knuckles was enough to convince him to never do it again.

"_You killed her..."_

Near's head gave a particularly painful throb and he stumbled, his free hand shooting out to break his fall; however, the driver caught him before he could hit the ground, and he choked back the bile rising in his throat as he managed to mumble, "Thanks."

He felt weak and pathetic, leaning on the driver for support. He could hardly stand upright, and his head was hurting so badly that his vision blurred with every step that he took.

"If you're not feeling well, I could carry-"

Near immediately straightened up, regardless of the hot pinpricks of tears behind his eyes, and interjected, "No. I'm fine." The thought of having to depend on someone for something so simple as walking made Near feel anxious; he needed to be self-sufficient, because no one in their right mind would help him when they realised just how disgusting he was.

The driver shot him a doubtful look and said, "If you're sure..." He trailed off; it was apparent that his offer still stood, and that he expected Near to accept it.

"Yes, I am," Near replied firmly, and the driver fell silent.

Progress back to the limo was slow because, though he managed to retain his straight-backed posture, every step made Near's stomach churn, and he didn't want to return to the car: though he didn't vomit again, he felt queasy, and he was sure that sitting in the cold, confined space of the limo would only make him sick.

When they finally reached the limo, Near took a deep breath and said, "Thank you for everything, but I'd like some time alone."

He knew that his reasoning was ridiculous: he needed time alone to think in a familiar setting - a dark, deserted alley would suffice - but how could he explain that to the driver? How could he ask, 'I would like to sit alone in a disgusting alleyway somewhere'? The driver would surely ignore him and drive him back to Wammy's.

However, if he played on the driver's weaknesses...

"I can't let you go anywhere," the driver said, as Near had expected. "If I don't get you back to '_the place_' safely, I'll lose my job."

Near squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his headache away until he'd finished doing what needed to be done. "You heard what Nathan said to me. I'd like some time to... reflect on it." It was clear on the driver's face that he still didn't believe Near (and Near didn't blame him, because he was not being very convincing), so Near continued, "Please... If you do this for me, I'll keep an eye on Abel for you. I'll even give you weekly reports on his health and well-being."

The skin around the driver's mouth grew taut, his eyes narrowing as he responded, "That's not a fair bargain."

Near inclined his head and clenched his fist in his hair, trying to ignore the pain in his head. "No, it's not, but are you going to accept it?"

He wished that the driver would just hurry up and accept his offer; it was clear that the man would, and that they both were just wasting time.

"I don't exactly have a choice, do I?" the driver said dryly. "Look, I'll give you a mobile phone, and you have to promise me you'll call if you get into any trouble. My phone number is saved onto it." He produced the device from his pocket and held it out to Near.

"Okay," Near replied quickly, taking the mobile phone. He smiled to himself, and quickly left the driver in front of the gaol and walked down a promising-looking road; it was dark and deserted, and looked exactly the same as the alleys in Kent, but without the old, perverted men loitering in there.

The road was lined with deserted buildings and rundown houses; Near turned down a small gap between two of the buildings and met a dead end.

It was strange to be comforted by something that had haunted his nightmares for years, Near knew, but he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of relief he felt when he saw the familiar environment - this was almost like a second home to him.

He sat down against the brick wall marking the end of the alley and let out a low moan when his head throbbed painfully. This pain, it was so similar to what he'd experienced that morning, and he reached up to touch his gauze-covered wound. It burned and stung; he pressed against it harder and smiled at the hot, numb sensation spreading throughout his body.

He deserved something much more horrible and painful than a headache: he had ruined his mother's life. Nathan had forced him into existence, purely to destroy Heaven. What did that make Near? The by-product of devastation, or the cause itself?

Optimus Prime set its accusing gaze on Near; its eyes seemed to glow in the dark, blaming him for Heaven's death, and Near's hands trembled as he put Optimus on the ground beside him, so that he couldn't see the toy anymore.

_It's my fault... I killed you, Maman..._

Near hugged his knee and squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a shuddering breath. He remembered his mother clearly; her bright smile, her sweet perfume, her long, blonde hair, her beautiful, blue eyes, her soft voice as she whispered, 'Je t'aime, Nate', the quiet pattering of her feet against the carpet, the '_click_' of her opening a bottle of pills, the sound of water running from the shower mingling with her quiet sobs.

Something inside of Near's chest ached, and he cried out. He missed his mother more than ever before, and he knew that she didn't want to see him; she had never wanted to see him. How must she have felt, being forced to care for the reminder of her trauma every day? How had she ever looked him in the eye or hugged him close? Why had she sacrificed her life for him, when she should have just pushed him into the flames and watched him burn?

Near wiped at his face and wasn't surprised when his hand came back wet. His guilt weighed down on his shoulders until it physically hurt him, and he let out a quiet sob.

He had only ever tried to be good to his mother; he had done whatever he could to see her smile, to feel her hair tickle his cheek as she hugged him to her chest and ran her hands through his hair, but there was no point.

She had cared for him so well that Near could almost swear that she felt some form of affection for him; he would have, had he not known about the rape, and, for the first time in his life, he resented something about his mother - her acting skills. Why had she not admitted that she didn't want to see him? Why had she nurtured him so lovingly?

Unless...

Near's eyes widened.

_No..._

She had seen his filth every day, but she had done nothing to rid herself or him of it: no, she had fed it, nourished it, until it encompassed him so completely that he wasn't even aware of its presence.

"_She hated you..."_

With a strangled scream, Near turned around and hit his head against the brick wall behind him, choking as he gasped for breath. He had wanted to believe that Nathan had lied to him; he _had_ believed it, for a few blissful minutes of ignorance.

"_Sortez, Nate! Laisser! Courir!"_

_Oh God... Please..._

She had let him run because she wanted him to live in pain; she had wanted him to suffer with the knowledge that he had killed her.

"_Courir! Laissez-vous vite!"_

Near screamed again, his eyes burning as he cried. In that instant, with his mother's screams ringing in his ears, he realised the truth: she had wanted to die that night. She had wanted him to live; not because she loved him, but for reasons much more twisted.

Nathan was right: _He had killed her._

What did that make him? He was worse than scum, worse than the lowest form of filth to inhabit the Earth.

Every name that the tricks had ever called him, every insult that had ever been shouted at him - they were all true, and now, with a broken street-light flickering overhead and cold, hard bricks digging into the side of his face, Near understood why everyone he'd ever met hated him, and saying that he didn't agree with them would have been a lie.

He wanted to see his mother again; he wanted to apologise for existing, but he didn't want her to ever have to see him again.

He clung to Optimus Prime, stroking the toy's face, and sobbed desperately, "I-I'm sorry! I'm s-so sorry, Maman! You sh-should've- You should've j-just killed me! I-I... I d-didn't mean-" The words refused to form on his tongue and he eventually gave up on forcing them; his breathing was too strained, choppy, and fast to let any words out, and he clutched at his throat.

_I can't breathe._

Near's fingernails drew blood but he didn't care: he couldn't breathe, and he didn't want to die just yet - his mother wouldn't want to see him, and he didn't want to upset her anymore, especially when she'd finally escaped the pain of having to care for him.

The flickering light of that the street-lamp provided was burning and bright; the sound of footsteps against the cement-covered ground was far too loud; every shallow breath burned Near's throat until he gave up on breathing completely - the oxygen wasn't reaching his lungs, so there was no point in trying.

"Is everything alright?" a deep, kind-sounding voice suddenly asked, and Near instantly sat up straighter, holding Optimus Prime in front of him like a shield.

The man who had spoken walked toward Near quickly, his hair smartly combed back and his business suit pressed neatly.

Near felt slightly safer - this man didn't look like one of the tricks: he looked far too professional - but he didn't let his guard down. They were alone in this alley, and no one would be able to hear anything if something were to happen.

"What're you doing back here?" the man asked when he came to stop in front of Near. He crouched down so that he was at Near's level and said, surprised, "You're a bit young to be out here by yourself. Where are you parents?"

Near hated himself for not being able to answer; he wiped his face on his sleeve and held Optimus Prime in front of his sore throat, his knee shielding the rest of his body from the man's gaze.

With a soft sigh, the man said, "My name's Eli. What's yours?"

"My name is Near," Near replied hoarsely, his throat stinging. "I'm not too young to be here by myself; I lived on the streets for two years in Kent. If that's what you were concerned about, please don't be." He was trying to encourage Eli to leave. The man had no business here, watching Near break down; Near did not need a spectator.

Eli sighed again. "What're you doing out here at this time of night?"

Near found that he could think of no reasonable excuse, and answered, "I'm not doing anything."

It was obvious that Eli didn't believe him: the man rolled his eyes and said, "Alright then. If you're not doing anything, then why don't I take you home? You do know the way back to your house, right?"

Near stood up too quickly; his vision turned black for a moment, and he slammed his palm against the wall to keep himself standing. Taking a deep breath, Near stumbled out of the alleyway, the phone feeling like a deadweight in his pocket, and said, "I don't know the way back, so I'll call someone to pick me up. You can leave now."

Eli smiled and replied, "Don't worry about wasting your call credits. Come on; I'll take you to my house, and you can call from there, okay?"

Near did not trust Eli at all. The man was a stranger and, though he looked far cleaner and more respectable than the tricks, he could very well be something horrible, like a serial killer. However, did Near really have a choice? If Eli wanted to hurt him, he could do it easily - Near couldn't defend himself, much less against a fully grown man. Resisting would only earn Near more injuries, but going with Eli almost certainly meant something much more painful.

Finally, Near decided that his best chances were pretending to go with Eli, but 'losing' the man along the way, and responded, "Okay."

They walked out of the alleyway in silence, and Near clutched at the phone in his pocket with trembling hands.

-----

**AN**: 'Eli' is pronounced 'EE-lie'; I just thought that I'd let you guys know, because that's one of my favourite names and it's very easy to mispronounce ^^;;

Also, in response to someone's question, the NearxMello/MelloxNear will not be showing up for a while, in case you hadn't realised. I suppose that I should have clarified that earlier, but I'm lazy.

This is not going to be a love-at-first-sight 'ZOMG LET'S HAVE SEX NAO KAIIZ!' story, so if you're looking for something like that, don't look here. This will be a rather depressing story, with love as merely a sub-plot. There will be no cheery 'You know what? I'm gay, and I'm totally cool with that, even though I only realised it, like... two seconds ago... I don't even know if you're gay or not, but who cares? Let's screw!' moments. Ever.

For the most part, Near will not be comfortable with the feelings that he will develop toward Mello, because no one in his situation would be. He will not instantly accept it, he will not fantasise about having sex with Mello every few seconds, and he won't masturbate every night to thoughts of Mello.

Please, if you are looking for a love story that is instantaneous and deals with no issues regarding sexual preference, rape, prostitution, self-harm, and eating disorders, then find something else to read, and don't complain, because I have now officially warned you.


End file.
